


A Mutual Understanding

by Mama_Hibou



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AU, College AU, Gen, Secret Identities, no magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6320284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mama_Hibou/pseuds/Mama_Hibou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette is 21 and starting her final year of college, studying fashion and design. She’s not looking forward to a year of tough competition, late nights and the prospect of group projects with Chloe Bourgeois. But it’s all for the sake of her dream. This might be the year her luck finally turns around and all of her hard work will pay off! She starts her day full of optimism… until she meets her parents’ new part-time employee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Running Out, Time and Luck

 

CHAPTER 1: Running Out, Time and Luck

 

“Well everything looks in order. Can you start tomorrow? I know it’s short notice, but our daughter is going back to school and I didn’t anticipate business to pick up so much this month.”

Adrien suppressed the relieved sigh he so desperately wanted to make as he nodded to Tom Dupain-Cheng, the owner of one of the greatest underrated bakeries in Europe. Tom was a large and imposing man. He looked like a bear. But after talking with him for the last half hour Adrien had quickly come to realize that his new boss was a giant softy with the friendliest smile he’d ever seen. “How early should I come in?”

Tom scratched the back of his head and looked down at Adrien a little apologetically. “5 am would be fine. 4 am would be better.”

“I can be here at 4!”

Tom blinked in surprise. _Damn,_ Adrien thought. Was he a little too enthusiastic? “Well then,” Tom laughed. “That’s perfect! You can help me unload the delivery truck! Afterwards I’ll show you around the kitchen and then Sabine wants to train you on the cash register.”

Adrien tried not to let his disappointment show on his face.

“I know you came here wanting to learn the fine art of pastries,” another big chuckle from the giant teddy bear, “and I’m more than happy to teach you all my secrets-”

Again, relief.

“-but we really need an extra pair of hands out front, at least for the breakfast and lunch rushes.”

Tom stood up. Adrien hurriedly stood up as well. The large man extended his serving plate-sized hand to him. Adrien shook it firmly. He’d been taught proper handshake etiquette since he learned to talk. No limp wrists, grip without crushing, make eye contact, smile.

“See you tomorrow morning! Wear comfortable shoes and help yourself to as much coffee as you need!”

 

\---

 

BZZZZ BZZZZ BZZZZ BZZZZ

“Marinette?”

BZZZZ BZZZZ BZZZZ

“Marinette?!”

BZZZZ BZZZZ  
  
“MARINETTE YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE!”

Her head snapped up as she let out a startled snort. Her eyes struggled to make sense of the buzzing object in her hand. “Phone… mama?” Her vision began to clear and she saw the clock just before the phone’s screen dimmed to black. 7:35 am.

Her first class started at 8.

“SHIT!”

Panicked, Marinette launched herself out of bed, scrambled down the loft stairs and nearly twisted her knee as she dashed for her wardrobe. She tore a top and a blazer down off their hangers, snatched a pair of pants off a stack of laundry she had yet to put away and spent five seconds too long looking for a pair of socks. She threw the outfit on without even checking the mirror and hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

Her mother was calmly sipping a cup of tea at the kitchen island and smiled when Marinette huffed by and started rummaging through the cabinet above their coffee maker. “Mama, have you seen my-”

Sabine handed Marinette a pink travel mug. A thread of steam danced out from the vent and the cup itself was warm to the touch. Marinette could smell the blend of jasmine and green tea. It served to soothe her bristling nerves just a little. “Thanks.”

“You left your bag beside the door. Your shoes are in front of the closet. Stop by the kitchen downstairs for a fresh cheese croissant. Papa wants to see you before you go.”

Marinette planted a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “Thanks Mama! I didn’t get to sleep until after 2 last night.”

“Worried? You were a complete wreck your first year.”

“Thanks for reminding me…” Marinette sat down beside the apartment door and slipped on her favourite flats. “I was mentally preparing myself for dealing with ugh… Chloe.” Marinette grimaced as she adjusted the strap on her messenger bag. She happened to glance in the front mirror and saw that her hair had apparently been to a party that she wasn’t invited to in the night. She started running her fingers through it furiously, trying to tame it down. Sabine came up behind her with a brush. Marinette sat down again and let her mother fix her hair.

Marinette had insisted on living in residence her first year. She’d wanted the genuine college experience and everything dorm-life had to offer despite her family’s apartment being a mere four blocks from the campus. That was until she met her roommate. Chloe Bourgeois had been sweet for exactly one week until she noticed that Marinette was outdoing her and wasn’t easily persuaded into doing Chloe’s projects for her. After that Marinette started finding her belongings damaged, destroyed or missing on a semi-regular basis. When her final project for the year was shredded to bits the night before it was due, Marinette decided to save herself her sanity and live at home until she finished.

“Maybe she will have moved on this year. You know how easily bored she is.” Sabine tugged Marinette’s hair up and gathered it up in one of her hands.

Marinette groaned. “I doubt it. I’m her favourite target.”

Sabine began twisting her daughter’s hair into a bun at the crest of her head. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yep!” Marinette was glad for the change of subject. “I packed everything before I went to bed last night. I’m going to start this year on the right foot.”

“Don’t you want to double-check?”

Marinette was already mostly out the door before she turned back and smiled to her mother. “I don’t have time. I’ll go say bye to Papa, then I need to run!”

 

\---

 

The breakfast rush had been ridiculous. Adrien couldn’t believe how busy he and Sabine had been from the moment the shop opened until just a few minutes ago. In a mere thirty minutes he figured they’d served at least eighty people. After the last rushed commuter left, Sabine excused herself and left Adrien to mind the front while she went up to the family’s apartment with a promise of returning before long.

Things were steady for the next little while. Adrien had time to pour himself a cup of coffee - Tom had given him a china mug to use so he wouldn’t need to use the paper ones. He leaned on the display case and sipped his coffee carefully. Once Sabine came back he could join Tom in the kitchen and start learning how to use their industrial mixer.

A sense of peace came over Adrien. This felt right. The coffee was a comforting warmth that filled him from his core as he drank it. The smell of the shop was heaven. Both Tom and Sabine had been so welcoming, treating Adrien like a family member the moment he’d shown up for his first day.

Being on his feet for long hours didn’t bother him, Adrien was used to that. At least now he was standing where he wanted to be. He looked out the front window and suddenly felt his gut clench. There, across the street, on a massive billboard was the sexed-up smarmy face of a man dressed entirely in black next to a giant bottle of cologne. _Le Chat Noir, get lucky_.

Adrien cringed.

A limousine pulling up outside the shop took his attention from the billboard and Adrien couldn’t decide in that split second if he felt dread or relief. Relief for the distraction, dread that the passenger getting out of the limo could be the last person he wanted to see.

 

\---

 

Marinette was stuck at a cross-walk. She heaved a sigh. She’d just missed the last crossing light and traffic was too heavy for her to attempt jay-walking. No help for it, she took the moment to double check the contents of her bag as her mother had suggested. Marinette was confident that she had everything. She’d packed it before she was called down to cover for her parents while Papa went to interview the new part-timer. There was her textbook, her keys, her wallet, her lip balm, her pencil case-

Marinette let out a little shriek of panic. Her sketchbook was missing.

She looked up, not noticing the startled eyes on her. A few fellow pedestrians stepped away to give her a larger berth. She must have left it in the shop while she was closing the night before. She checked her phone for the time. If she ran she MIGHT not be late for class. She didn’t have time to think. Marinette spun around and dashed back toward the patisserie.

 

\---

 

The person who emerged first from the limo Adrien recognized immediately. It wasn’t who he was expecting, but the dread wasn’t leaving him any time soon.

Her long blonde hair, couture clothing and air of self-importance was impossible to mistake. Adrien watched her flick her hair over her shoulder before she appeared to snap at the car door beside her. Another young woman scrambled out of the back and followed behind the blonde like an eager puppy.

The gentle tingle of the patisserie door announced the arrival of Chloe Bourgeois. Adrien set his coffee cup out of sight and stood up straight before greeting her cheerfully. “Good morning, how can I-”

Chloe didn’t even spare him a glance before she cut him off. “Where’s Marinette?”

“Huh?”

Both women rolled their eyes at each other.

Wasn’t Marinette the name of Tom’s daughter? Was Chloe friends with her? Adrien hadn’t had the chance to meet Marinette yet, so he had no idea what she was like. But if she was friends with Chloe... “Uh, I think she already left for school.”

“Nevermind. I want a lemon turnover. And I have somewhere to be, so be quick.”

“Ah,” there had been a mix up with the shipments that morning. The supplier had sent a crate of oranges instead of a crate of lemons. There were no fresh lemon pastries available. Most customers had been very understanding and took a substitution. Adrien knew Chloe better than that. “There’s no fresh today, but there’s a few lemon turnovers in the day-old basket.”

Chloe’s companion gasped. Chloe rounded on him. Her bejeweled hand came down on the counter with a clack and a bang. There was ice and fury in her eyes as she stared up at him as though he were an insect. Adrien was sure she was going to recognize him any second. Chloe was a lot of things, and sharp was one of them. He braced himself.

“Day-old?!” She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “You expect me to buy trash?!”

Huh, she hadn’t noticed him yet. Well, it had been a few years since they’d last crossed paths. And Adrien had been careful to dress himself down quite a bit before coming in. He’d even borrowed a set of old frames from a friend and his hair was mussed up from the chaos he’d endured during the first rush of the day. Chloe might NOT catch on that she was talking to a childhood friend. She was sharp, but she didn’t waste her precious energy on those deemed below her. Adrien, as he was, clearly fit well below that bar. He’d witnessed Chloe’s temper toward others, but this was the first time Adrien had it directed toward himself. He was curious. “They’re still good. I could pop one in the microwave for a few seconds to freshen it up.”

“UGH! Nevermind! Let’s go Sabrina!” Both Chloe and her friend turned on their heels and headed for the door, but Chloe stopped just short of the coffee maker. Sabrina nearly ran right into her. Chloe’s attention was fixed on the counter beside her. Adrien had to lean out to see around the coffee maker, wondering what could have stopped one of Chloe’s rampages so abruptly. All he could see was the edge of a book. Chloe picked it up and smiled.

“Sabrina, I’ve changed my mind.” She glided back to the counter and set the book down next to the register. She smiled sweetly to Adrien. Her expression gave him a sick feeling. “I think I’ll have a chocolate eclaire, please.”

He had begun looking forward to her leaving so Adrien wasted no time wrapping an eclaire up in paper and ringing it through the register. Chloe paid for it but when Adrien tried to hand her the bag she stepped back.

“Sabrina? I’ve thought better. An eclaire? I’ll get violently ill if I eat that.” She looked at her friend and motioned to the bag in Adrien’s hand. “Could you be a dear and dispose of this for me?”

“Certainly, Chloe!” Sabrina chirped. She took the bag from Adrien and before he could process what he was witnessing, the red-haired woman opened the bag and mashed it into the dust cover of the book, taking special care to smear cream and chocolate glaze over the letters ‘M D-C’ stitched into the corner.

“What are you-”

“We’d better go. Don’t want to be late!”

 

\---

 

Marinette came around the corner in time to see Chloe and her insipid friend Sabrina leave the patisserie giggling like a pair of over dressed hyenas. She hung back and waited for them to get into their limo and drive away before she headed into the shop herself.

She let out a breath as the door chimed her arrival. “Mama, have you seen my sketch-”

Her mother wasn’t standing behind the counter as she’d expected. Instead there was a tall, lean young man with dishevelled blond hair, reddish stubble on his chin and thick black glasses that took up a large portion of his face. In one hand he held a crumpled mess of paper and pastry. His other hand held her sketch book. He stared at her for a long moment, then dropped the book like it was made of hot coals. “Chloe- I- I- it’s not what-” he stammered.

Marinette clanked her travel mug down on the counter and snatched her book away from him. It was completely covered. Brown and white smears, crumbs, it was sticky to the touch. She’d made the dust cover herself, embroidered her initials in the corner. She’d used this cover for each of her sketchbooks since middle school. It was ruined. She glared up at the man behind the counter. This was the new part timer, was it? He knew Chloe?

“I was just-”

“Have a good laugh.” She tugged the cover off and was relieved to see none of the glaze had gotten on the pages of her book. Even so, she was still angry. Angry at Chloe for being a brat. Angry at this jerk in one of her mom’s aprons for letting Chloe get away with this. Angry at herself for being so absent minded. “I’m late.”

If he said anything else Marinette didn’t hear it. She stormed out the door.


	2. Chapter 2: A Turnaround?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bad start, a sign of things to come? Alya to the rescue?

Marinette’s day didn’t improve much. Her seat in Art History was directly in front of Chloe’s. _Who does assigned seating in college anyway?!_ Marinette was picking tiny scraps of paper out of her hair all throughout her mid-morning break between classes.

She’d be asking her prof for a seating change next time she saw him.

Small salvation came later that afternoon when she received a text message from her best friend.

 

**M! HUGE NEWS! I’M PICKING YOU UP AFTER CLASS!!1! - A**

 

Most of Alya’s texts were like this. She was always getting enthusiastic about something and, no matter how crushed Marinette may feel, Alya’s energy always succeeded in picking up her spirits.

 

**You better not be pregnant. - M**

 

**Just a food baby. I named it Marinette. - A**

 

**I’m honoured! I’m not paying for its college tuition. - M**

 

**Stingy! I’m changing the name to Gertrude. - A**

 

**What’s the news? - M**

 

**Can’t text it. TOO HUGE. Your phone would explode. - A**

 

**Last class ends at 4. Aren’t you working? - M**

 

**Took afternoon off. I’ll play catch-up in the morning. See you at 4! - A**

 

**I can’t wait to meet Gertrude. - M**

 

Marinette checked the time and hurried off to her last class of the day.

* * *

 

Tom hefted two stools out from the corner and set them by the flour-caked counter in the middle of the shop’s kitchen. He left and then came back with a steaming plate of fresh quiche. “Sabine whipped this up while we were kneading.” He smiled from his bushy moustache all the way to his ears. “The breads need to proof for an hour. We can take it easy.” Tom cut Adrien a generous slice of quiche and set it down in front of him.

Adrien’s knuckles ached from massaging lumps of dough for the last hour. Tom had insisted, although there was a top-of-the-line stand mixer with a perfectly pristine dough hook attachment next to the fridge, that the bread just tasted better when it was kneaded by hand. Adrien stretched and flexed his fingers to work out the stiffness. He looked down at the plate in front of him, then glanced at Tom who was gleefully digging into his own serving.

Adrien wasn’t feeling very hungry. His gut was still in a knot over his morning encounter with Tom and Sabine’s daugher. He’d been able to ignore it while he worked in the kitchen through the day. Tom was alarmingly fast at his work, despite his size. It took Adrien’s full attention just trying to keep up with him. Now that he was sitting down, however, the events of the morning began replaying in his mind with devastating clarity.

Tom was talking. Adrien caught maybe every third word. He ate his quiche slowly, trying to focus on the flavour in hopes it would take his mind off the look on the girl’s face when she came to the obvious conclusion that HE had been the one to ruin her book cover. The saltiness of the cheese, the savoury herbs… Chloe’s peel of laughter as she practically skipped away. The quiche really was quite delicious. He’d tried rinsing the chocolate glaze off the cover, but the pink fabric was completely stained.

Tom was staring at him. “Something bothering you?”

Adrien startled and choked down his mouthful of food.

* * *

 

 

True to her word, Alya’s fast little car screeched up to the front steps of the art building of Marinette’s school at exactly five minutes after 4. Her horn blared twice in quick succession. Marinette had been reading over a syllabus while she waited, but carefully tucked the paper away before she bounded down the steps to meet her friend.

Alya was playing air-drums on her steering wheel but paused just long enough to open the passenger side door. Marinette tossed her bag into the back seat while she climbed into her seat. A heavy bass rhythm shook the interior of the car and thumped through Marinette’s entire body. Alya tossed her thick curls and grinned at her best friend. Her grin quickly fell when she noticed the look on Marinette’s face. The music was shut off and Alya pushed her sunglasses up to the top of her head.

“Mari! What happened?!”

Marinette sighed. Alya could read her like a magazine. “Chloe,” she said simply.

Alya frowned and clicked her tongue. “I’m taking you out for ice cream.”

“I thought you said you had a food baby already.”

“I can have room for twins. I need to cheer you up before I give you my HUGE news.”

“Alya, have I told you how much I love you?”

Her friend’s grin was back. “Double fudge and chocolate chip therapy!”

Marinette barely got her seatbelt fastened before Alya revved the engine and they tore down the street.

* * *

 

Adrien told Tom about Chloe, the book and Marinette. Tom was quiet, though Adrien did note that his moustache twitched at the mention of Chloe’s name. He also noted the total lack of shock Tom seemed to have to learn that his daughter had been bullied. When he finished his story, Adrien watched Tom wordlessly gather up their dishes and take them to the wash tub in the corner.

“Everything just happened so fast and now I’m pretty sure Marinette hates me.”

To Adrien’s surprise, Tom threw his head back and laughed. “I doubt she hates you. She… she has a history with Chloe Bourgeois.”

 _And I don’t need much imagination to wonder what that history is…_ Adrien thought sardonically. He got up from his stool, washed his hands and joined Tom in punching down the mushrooming balls of bread dough that had risen while they talked and ate.

They didn’t talk about the girls anymore. Their focus shifted onto portioning dough and knotting ornate buns. Adrien lost count of how many buns he’d made before Tom announced that they were done for the day.

Sabine appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding a portable phone. Tom was at her side in an instant and leaned over to plant a kiss on the top of his wife’s head. Adrien felt a slight pang in his chest at the sight of them. Sabine patted Tom’s meaty arm and smiled at him. “Marinette just called,” she said.

Another pang.

“She went out with a friend and will be home late.” She turned to Adrien and smiled. “Would you like to have dinner with us, Adrien? You can meet Marinette when she gets home.”

Both Tom and Sabine looked at him hopefully.

“Uh…” He didn’t want to be rude, and really the prospect of spending more time with them wasn’t at all unpleasant. But Adrien was feeling like it was time he went home. “Thank you, but I need to get going. My roommate-”

“Oh that’s fine, another night then.” Tom interjected. He walked over to Adrien and gave him a cuff on the shoulder that sent him staggering a little. Then Tom leaned in and said very softly, “just explain what happened to Marinette. She’ll understand. She’s not the type to hold a grudge for long.”

With a wink, the big man followed his wife to the back of the shop. They all bid each other farewell and the Dupain-Chengs thanked Adrien for all his hard work. He’d be back for 6 the next morning, as the delivery truck came every second day.

* * *

 

Ice cream gone, frustrations purged, Marinette was feeling much better. Alya was exactly as indignant as she needed to be on her best friend’s behalf. They spent a long time discussing revenge plots, ridiculous scenarios and theorizing on the relationship between Chloe and the new guy at the patisserie.

“Ex-boyfriend, maybe?” Alya said around her plastic sundae spoon.

Marinette shook her head. “Nah, not her type.”  
  
“Too short? Too heavy?”

“Too minimum-wage.” She laughed.

“From the sound of him it doesn’t sound likely that he has any connection to Bourgeois at all. Are you sure he’s even guilty?”

Marinette frowned. “He knew her name and his hands were covered in eclaire.”

Alya ‘hmm’ed and licked the very last traces of chocolate off her spoon before dropping it back into her empty cup. “Well, how about we talk about something FAR more HUGE and IMPORTANT than odious Chloe Bourgeois and her alleged co-conspirator.”

Marinette watched Alya reach into her bag and produce a folded sheet of paper. She flicked it open and slapped it down on the table between them. Marinette couldn’t read it upside-down.

“Behold!” Alya sang. She spun the paper around and pushed it under Marinette’s nose. In bright, bold lettering the paper announced that anyone interested in the fashion industry was being offered **‘THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME’**. It was a flier for a contest, ‘Miraculous By Design’ for amature designers. Marinette looked it over, feeling a small bit of excitement rising within her. The contest was being sponsored in part by Gabriel Agreste, one of the most highly regarded fashion designers in Paris. They wanted potential contestants to submit five sketches of their original designs. Those who got accepted would be competing for a cash prize of 50’000 Euros and a feature in G Magazine. Marinette gasped. Alya preened. She kept scanning the paper, but Marinette’s mind was already going through her sketches, trying to decide which five would be the most likely to grab attention. Perhaps she should come up with something new! Did she have time to draw before the deadline-

She stopped. The excitement fizzled and vanished when she read the submit-by date at the bottom of the poster. “Alya… they wanted the sketches two weeks ago.”

“I know.”

Alya went back to her bag and pulled out a large, thick envelope that she passed to Marinette. The envelope wasn’t addressed to her but to Alya’s office. She stared at her friend in bewilderment, but Alya just motioned for her to open it. Marinette carefully tore the flap open and pulled a glossy booklet and an embossed certificate out of the envelope. The certificate read:

 

 _Congratulations!_ _  
_ _Your designs have been reviewed by our panel of experts and an invitation has been extended to you to compete in_ **_Miraculous By Design_ ** _. Enclosed you will find contest details, a submission schedule as well as your project assignments and a journal._

_Please fill out the profile form and reply before September 15th to confirm your interest in participating in the contest._

  * __Nathalie R.__



  _Personal Assistant to Mr. Agreste_

 

Marinette read it over twice more before her eyes shot up to Alya, who was practically a cheshire cat. “Alya!”

“Marinette!”

“Is this real?!”

“That’s Gabriel’s letterhead, isn’t it?”

Marinette stared at the logo at the top of the page. Yep. She’d know that font anywhere. “I should be angry at you-”

“You know, I thought about that when I was mailing off those sketches you gave me last month.”

“The bridesmaid dress?”

Alya nodded.

“And the swim suit?!”

Her friend started to laugh. “And the suit jacket, the bag and the sun hat.”

“You told me you needed those for reference!”

“Yep! They were your references. I referred them to Mr. Agreste.”

Marinette was dumbfounded. When she finally could speak again she only repeated, “I should be angry at you…” she hugged the booklet and certificate to her chest.

“But?”

“Have I told you how much I love you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shocked at how many people have left kudos on the first chapter. This is my first story on Ao3 ever. I didn't expect to get so many hits so quickly! Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3: Virtues and Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette avoids confrontation. Alya isn't having it. Adrien isn't as graceful as he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 600 hits! I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this AU. I hope I can continue providing an interesting story as the plot progresses.
> 
> I'm currently considering looking for a Beta. Or at least someone to bounce ideas off of. I've got several scenarios planned further into the story that could play out in different ways and it's just SO HARD to decide what would cause the absolute most agonizing reading experience. Because that's what I know we're all here for.

Adrien was getting out of bed just as his roommate was unlocking the apartment door. He glanced at his bedside clock. 3 am. Nino must have just finished his moonlighting gig.

He met Nino in their kitchenette and greeted him with a grunt and a nod. Nino poured himself a glass of orange juice. Adrien declined an offer for one of his own. Instead he started prepping the espresso machine.

“Early shift?” Nino sipped his juice and regarded Adrien with amusement. Soon, Adrien knew, Nino’s adrenaline would wear off and he’d crash harder than an avalanche.

“I met someone,” his friend was saying. “I got her number.” Nino’s leg was bouncing as he produced a small white card from his sweater pocket. He flashed it at Adrien.

Adrien took the card and skimmed over the hand-scrawled phone number. Then he flipped the card over and saw that it was a business card for an promotions agency. “I think she was there on business.”

Nino looked affronted, but only for a second. “Nah. Well, probably. But she DID say ‘see you around’. AND she smiled at me.”

Adrien handed the card back. “So are you going to call her?”

“Hell no.”

“That pretty, huh.”

“And I’m a spineless piece of garbage.”

“It’s too early for me to think of something encouraging to say.”

Nino slumped over the counter and buried his head in his arms. “I know better than to look for validation from you before coffee.” He muffled.

The espresso machine gurgled to life with the push of a button and was soon steaming and filling a mug with bitter, black life potion. “I’m still adjusting to the new schedule.”

“Hmm,” Nino reached across the island and grabbed the bag of croissants that Sabine had sent home with Adrien the day before. He selected a large one with ham and cheese folded into the buttery crust. “I’m enjoying the perks of your new uh… career? I’m still trying to wrap my head around why you chose to live in my dinky little apartment and work for minimum wage in an oven. I mean, it’s not really anywhere close to the track you’ve been on your entire life.”

Adrien let out a sigh as he poured creamer into his mug. “That wasn’t me. It just took me twenty years to figure it out.”

Nino ‘hmm’ed again and bit into his pastry. Adrien watched his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Oh god… Have you TRIED these?”

He laughed a little before taking a careful sip of his coffee.

“Adrien the baker… I could get used to it. You can cater my gigs.”

“Sure. You pay premium though.”

“Wha?!”

“Either that or you wave my share of the rent.”

Nino barked with laughter. “Dude, I’m not going to be renting once I hit it big. You can have the third coat closet in the east wing of my manor.”

“As long as it’s sound-proofed.”

Nino devoured his croissant in three more bites and licked his fingers clean before reaching for a second one. “Did you talk to that girl yet?”

Adrien started to cough as coffee splashed up his throat and into his sinuses. He glared as Nino snickered and patted Adrien on the back like a mother trying to burp a gassy baby. He gulped down air as soon as he could and pushed Nino’s arm away. “No.” he gasped. He hadn’t had the opportunity. He’d worked up the nerve, scripted what he wanted to say to her as soon as he had a chance, but in almost two weeks he hadn’t seen much more of Marinette than the back of her head as she rushed off to school. “I think she’s avoiding me.”

“Can you blame her? You look like a hobo.”

Adrien gave Nino’s shoulder a light punch, downed the rest of his coffee and trudged back to his room to get dressed.

\---

 

“You haven’t sent it off yet?!”

Marinette shrank back at the shrillness of Alya’s voice, but her nerves gave way to indignance. “My ear is RIGHT here, Alya.”

Alya glared.

“Aaaugh, don’t look at me like that! I needed time to think!”

Alya’s hands went up in the air. She shot out of her seat and started pacing the length of Marinette’s room. “Think about what, exactly? You got the invite, all you have to do is check ‘yes’ and mail the forms back! They even sent a pre-paid return envelope! The deadline is in four days!”

“I have school.”

“You have weekends.”

“My parents need me to help in the shop.”

“They can give New Guy more hours.”

“I don’t have time.”

“I once watched you design and sew a prom dress in less than 12 hours.”

Marinette knew Alya was going to think the real reason for her hesitation was stupid, but she was running out of her prepared excuses and Alya was watching her mentally grasp at straws. She had to come clean. Marinette opened her desk drawer and pulled the contest forms out. She set them on the table and pointed out the top of the response page.

Alya glanced at it and shrugged. “It’s a profile. It’s not like they’re asking you to fill in the periodic table.”

Marinette traced her finger down to the bottom of the page, the part that explained that the profiles were going to be used in a promotional release. Alya read it over and raised an eyebrow at her friend. “So… This is a big deal contest. Of course they’re going to do a promo. I write them for a living, remember?”

“I can’t have my name in a fashion article!”

“Marinette’s a perfectly magazine-friendly name. And I thought your goal was to be a top designer. You kind of need the press to get the recognition.”

She knew Alya wouldn’t get it. She didn’t know Chloe that well. She didn’t know the kind of tormen _ t Mme, Bourgeois _ would put Marinette through if she found out she was involved in this contest. The sabotage. It was enough to make Marinette want to forget the whole thing. She hated that Chloe had that kind of power over her. Things would be different if she was finished school and far away from Chloe and Sabrina - she’d throw herself into the contest with reckless abandon. But as things stood now she had to spend the majority of her weekdays in their presence. It was hell. She swallowed hard and lowered her voice to the point that she was almost inaudible. “Chloe.”

To her shock, Alya shrugged again as a smirk spread across her lips. “So we use a different name.” She snatched a pen out of Marinette’s art box and began reading through the form. She glanced at Marinette a few times, grinned to herself, and filled out the top line of the profile. Proudly, she pushed the paper back to Marinette, sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Problem solved.”

The blank space intended for her name was filled in with the word ‘Ladybug’. 

“Wha-”

She raised a silencing finger to Marinette and looked at her over the top of her glasses. “It’s perfect. You don’t want to use your real name? That’s fine. Artists use aliases all the time.”

“This isn’t even a proper name though. And it’s in English.”

“Artists are eccentric.”

“So why Ladybug?”

Marinette had her nose pinched. “The majority of your wardrobe consists of polka dots.”

She brushed Alya’s hand away and rubbed the tip of her nose. “Polka dots are cute.” She grumbled defensively. Marinette slipped the pen out of Alya’s hand and finished filling out the rest of the form. She smiled as a wave of excitement came over her and she signed the bottom with an over simplified drawing of a ladybug.

\---

 

Tom had to run an errand and so left Adrien to manage the ovens on his own for the first time since he started. It wasn’t that Tom didn’t trust Adrien not to screw up and let something burn up until now. The big man just didn’t leave unless he absolutely had to.

The timers were set. All of the dough was finished. There really wasn’t much for Adrien to do except wipe down the counters and load the dishwasher. He picked up a damp rag and started cleaning. 

As he was putting the last of the spatulas into the washer, Sabine stuck her head in the door and asked if he’d could cover the front while she went up to the apartment to start dinner.

There was still 30 minutes left on the timer. He had lots of time and it didn’t take long to pull trays. “Yeah, of course!” He did a little hop and kicked the dishwasher closed. He started to jog toward the front but bumped his hip against one of the ovens. He slowed his pace after that and tried to laugh it off. Sabine patted his elbow and headed up the stairs.

Exactly two customers came in while Sabine was away, but then things were usually slow on Thursdays before closing time. Adrien busied himself with taking down the leftover pastries, that wouldn’t likely sell, and preparing to wrap them for the day-old basket. He had his back to the counter, reaching for the box of plastic wrap from the supply cabinet, when he heard the door chime. He inclined his head while saying “just a second!”

He turned in time to see Marinette moving to walk back out the open door. “Wait!” He dropped the plastic wrap on his foot as he tried to move around the counter to stop her from leaving. This was his chance to finally apologize, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away from him.

It had worked. She stopped and let the door close. “I thought you’d be in the kitchen.” She muttered almost too quietly for Adrien to hear.

He hopped out from behind the counter (the box of plastic wrap was one of those commercial use ones that weighed as much as a dictionary) and noticed how Marinette’s shoulders hunched up as he got closer. He kept a bit of distance between them. “Look, about the other day…”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Do you know Chloe?” She asked pointedly.

Her bluntness threw him off a little. “Yeah. Uh… sort of. We aren’t close or anything.”

Marinette’s eyes flashed and she raised a brow at him. It was a silent go-ahead for him to continue explaining himself.

“She came in and asked for you.” He spoke quickly and slipped into his habit of scratching the back of his head when he felt nervous. “I thought, maybe, you were friends with her. Then the thing with your book happened and they left so fast I just… I was trying to clean the eclaire off when you came in and I know how it must have looked.”

Her shoulders slowly started to relax.

“I’m really sorry and I-”

“Is something burning?”

Adrien’s nose twitched. Yes, something was most definitely burning. He swore and spun around to hurry back to the kitchen.

\---

 

Marinette flipped the OPEN sign over and quickly locked the front door before she ran after the new guy, Adrien, toward the kitchen. She found him shaking a dishtowel at a billowing cloud of smoke coming from one of the ovens. She pushed past him to open a window.

“I don’t get it!” He coughed. “There’s still a few minutes left on the timer!”

“Hand me those oven mitts!” She ordered without hesitation. Adrien passed them to her. She slipped them on and immediately opened the smoking oven door. A giant puff of black filled half the kitchen. Adrien fanned it toward the open window without being asked. Marinette wasted no time pulling the baking sheets out and tossing them haphazardly onto the metal counter behind her. Four trays of blackened lumps came out and the oven door slammed closed again. A mitt came off and she twisted the temperature knob back down to zero. She looked at Adrien, still flapping away at the black cloud, feeling a little incredulous. “That was set to broil!”

Adrien turned and spotted the trays on the counter. He let out a groan and swore again. “I bumped the oven when Sabine asked me to watch the front. I must have hit the dial.” He stopped shaking the dishcloth now that most of the smoke was gone. He looked dejectedly at the burned buns. “That’s six dozen…”

Marinette frowned, suddenly remembering the first time she’d helped in the kitchen. She’d actually set fire to her dad’s apron. With that thought fresh on her mind she glanced back at Adrien. He poked at a bun with a knife. It scraped across the baking sheet and crumbled in black chunks. She barely managed to suppress a giggle. She knew her dad wouldn’t be upset over some burned buns, but she was registering serious concern in Adrien’s expression.

He had just apologized.

The timer went off. She still had the oven mitts so Marinette went ahead and moved the perfectly baked trays of buns from the second oven to the cooling rack. Once she was finished she hung up the mitts and started emptying the burned mess into the garbage pail at the end of the counter. “How many portions of dough makes six dozen?” She asked calmly.

“Three,” Adrien replied rather absently. He was focussed on the buns in the pail. 

She passed him the empty trays. “Here, wash these off in the sink, then put fresh parchment on them.” Marinette went to the fridge and pulled three balls of prepared dough out and carried them back to the counter. After washing her hands and rolling up her sleeves, she unwrapped the first ball from its plastic and began kneading it firmly to warm it up.

Adrien was at her side a moment later with the prepped baking sheets. “What are you doing?”

She passed him the second ball of dough. “Did you use a milk wash or an egg wash?”

His face broke out in a smile and he unwrapped his own dough and set to work on it beside her. “Egg wash.”

The two of them worked away and very soon they had the four trays filled. Marinette was impressed with how well Adrien twisted and braided the dough. She’d always tuned her parents out whenever they began discussing their new part timer, but she did notice how cheerful they both seemed whenever the topic of Adrien came up. She was starting to understand why. He worked hard and seemed to genuinely enjoy what he was doing.

Adrien beat eggs with a fork for the wash while Marinette sat at the end of the counter and watched. “I forgive you.”

The fork stopped for a moment. He glanced up at her through his thick frames like he was expecting her to say something contradictory. “Really?”

She snorted. Adrien was a big guy, but with that look and the smudge of dried dough in his stubble she couldn’t help herself. “Yes… It was just a stupid book cover. I- I tend to get a little… Chloe seems to have it in for me.”

He went back to mixing. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

“I’m sorry for being mad at you over something so stupid. Seriously, I’m an adult and I behaved like a middle-schooler.”

“Maybe... But Chloe started it.”

Marinette saw him smirk at her and she couldn’t help but laugh.

Sabine came into the kitchen while Adrien was brushing egg onto the last of the new buns. She was clearly surprised to see Marinette, but smiled after she seemed to assess the situation. “Was there an accident?”

Marinette hopped off her stool to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Yep! No fires this time.” She gave Adrien a wink before she slipped her oven mitts back on and proceeded to put the baking sheets into the awaiting oven.

“I’ll stay until those come out.” He said and set the timer.

“Well,” Sabine said as she gathered up a pile of used dishcloths to take to the laundry, “if you’re staying you might as well have dinner with us.”

Adrien visibly hesitated.

“You can bring the timer upstairs if you want.”

He blinked at Marinette. She shrugged.

“It’s kind of hard to hear it from the apartment.”


	4. Change, Adjust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things settle and things stir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pace is rather slow, I know. This is a transitional chapter. Things will be picking up in 5 ;)   
> And, as always, thank you for all of the notes and kudos! It gives me the heart fluffies.

“How many contestants submitted their forms?”

“Eight in all, sir.”

He held his hand open and a stack of file folders was obediently placed into his palm. He opened the top folder and scanned through the first page inside.

“But-”

“But?”

She cleared her throat. “There was something odd about one of the profiles.”

“Show me.”

The woman slipped the folder second from the bottom of the stack out and set it in front of her employer. She pulled the profile form out and held it up for him to see. “This one, sir. They didn’t provide a name.”

He read it over, closed his eyes and ‘tsk’ed. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Likely, sir. Though,” she pulled out another bundle of pages out of the folder, “the portfolio from this one was unanimously agreed upon for the competition.”

“Hmm?” He took the portfolio. A slow smile crept across his lips as he studied each sketch. “Fair enough. This ‘Ladybug’ is creative, clearly. These are non-traditional design elements for what they’ve used them for, but it works. Let’s see if their execution is as good as their conceptualization. Keep them in the contest for now.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Nathalie?”

“Yes sir?”

“Any progress on the other matter?”

“Nothing yet, sir. The last report was that he’d terminated his lease and left as soon as the program was finished.”

“Very well. Leave the files. I’ll go through them. Goodnight, Nathalie.”

“Good night, Mr. Agreste.”

\---

 

In the weeks that followed Adrien fell into a comfortable routine. He helped open the bakery most days and Tom put him in charge of breads. Some days he’d help with custom orders, though his skill with cake icing was rather questionable. Adrien could handle rolling fondant and spreading the buttercream. Tom looked after the details.

He had dinner with Tom and Sabine at least once a week. Often he’d end up volunteering to clean afterwards. Sabine had told him he didn’t need to feel obligated, but he insisted. Most nights that he stayed he and Marinette did the dishes while Tom and Sabine curled up on the couch together to watch a movie. This sort of family interaction was completely foreign to Adrien at first. He was unused to eating with others and sharing small talk in such a comfortable atmosphere. He liked it. He liked it quite a lot.

But doing the dishes was his favourite part of the day. He’d wash the dishes while Marinette dried and chatted with him. He still didn’t see much of her outside of this short space of time when they shared a household chore. 

Sometimes Marinette would wave to him as she sped off to her first class in the mornings.

They talked about Marinette’s program, regular customers at the patisserie and sometimes Adrien would try to get her to laugh with a terrible joke. Usually she just threw a dish towel at him.

Sometimes she laughed though. The risk of getting a dish towel to the face was worth it.

The weather was starting to turn. Adrien tugged the collar of his jacket up to shield his face against the chill of the autumn air as he walked home from work.

Things were good.

 

\---

 

Walking tall and feeling confident, Alya’s shoes made a satisfying ‘click click click’ as she made her way down the main floor hallway of the local tv station. She was heading straight for the elevator that would take her to the administration office. She had her guest pass clipped to the breast pocket of her orange blouse. She had two goals for this trip. The first goal was to drop off the new promo materials from her office to the advertising manager of the station. The second was to slip her own audition package, resume and headshot onto the desk of the news director. Alya liked her current job well enough. The pay and the hours were good. But she was getting a little bored with what seemed like writing the same tag lines over and over again. She’d taken creative writing in university, but her focus was on journalism and current affairs. She loved information and she loved sharing it even more.

She checked her phone as she stood by the elevator doors and waited for one to arrive. She was a little early for her appointment with the ad manager. The door ‘ding’ed and opened. Alya stepped into the elevator and pressed for her floor.  As she flipped through one of her many social media feeds, a second person rushed into the elevator and let out an audible “Whew!”

Alya glanced up impulsively as the second passenger pressed for the floor above her own. She had to do a double take.

“Nino?”

His head snapped around just as the elevator doors were closing, nearly knocking his enormous headphones off from where they hung around his neck. “Ah!”

“Alya.” she corrected as she crossed her arms over her chest.

He laughed nervously. “Yeah, uh… hey! How’s it going?”

Not impressed. She eyed him with a scowl. “Why not ask me that weeks ago? You know, when you weren’t calling me.”

Nino gaped at her for a second too long and stammered out a “I had… My phone didn’t…”

Her scowl deepened. If there was one thing Alya disliked it was excuses. “You could’ve just told me you weren’t interested.”

“But I AM interested-” he shot back before looking very much like a startled puppy. Nino slapped himself in the forehead and groaned. “Ah damn it…”

She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. She was feeling a little generous today, if only because Nino’s face was turning scarlet and he was looking endearingly uncomfortable in his collared shirt.

He had eight floors left to explain himself.

“I’m bad at this. Like, really bad. And I’m really sorry. Attractive women don’t give me their numbers. I panicked… for almost a month.”

Alya ‘hmph’ed.  _ Okay, not bad _ . She held out a hand, “give me your phone.”

Nino handed his cell to her without question.

She quickly entered her information into his contacts list and sent herself a text message. Her own phone vibrated in her skirt pocket. “There. We’ll try this again.” Alya gave Nino his phone back. Oh she liked the look of shock on his face.

“Really?”

The elevator slowed to a stop on Alya’s floor. “Don’t let me change my mind,” she said with a smirk and stepped off. She saw a grin appear on Nino’s face as the doors slid closed again.

 

\---

 

“I’m worried about Marinette…”

Marinette roused from where she had accidentally fallen asleep - at her desk. Blearily she looked around her room. Her digital clock told her it was still fairly early in the evening.Her parents were downstairs, directly below her in the livingroom from the sounds of it. Her mother’s voice was muffled by the floor but the concerned tone was easily distinguishable.

“You know how she is, Sabine. She thrives under pressure. I’m sure she’s fine.” She heard her father say. His voice rumbled softly, a sweet bass.

There was a program playing on the television. She couldn’t tell what exactly. Some game show. There was a buzzer, a pause, cheering. Her mother setting a china mug on the coffee table.

“She’s capable of incredible things. But Tom, she’s been working so much. She was so excited about that contest she’s entered. I know it’s important to her…”

“You think she should just focus on school.”

“I couldn’t tell her that.”

Her dad chuckled. “You know what’d she say to you if you did.”

“ _ Don’t worry, mama.  _ She takes too much after you, dear. Throwing herself into things without thinking it through. Have you seen how tired she is?”

Marinette glanced to her left and caught sight of herself in her mirror. Her hair was a mess and even in the dimming evening light she could see the dark bags under her eyes. She cringed.

Tired or not, she had to finish. She’d made it through the preliminaries and her first official entry was due at the end of the week. Not only that, but she had to finish her report on Historical Undergarments and study for a test.

Her parents’ discussion continued, but she put in her earbuds and drowned out their voices with the genius of rock legend, Jagged Stone. The guitar roared and Marinette carried on with the sketch she’d started before drifting off. The entry theme for this round was ‘Classic Contemporary’. All contestants were to submit their designs, original copies only, by mail. Then those drawings would be posted on G-Magazine’s website to be voted on by the public. The results were going to be published in the holiday issue of the magazine.

Marinette had chosen to draw inspiration from the 1920’s, a throwback to those glorious flappers. The model in her sketchbook wore a straight silhouette dress in red, the hem just barely reaching the tops of her knees. A long chain about her neck hung well below the plunging neckline. She had a loose-fitting cardigan draping off her shoulders to her elbows, and atop her head she had a fedora complete with a complimentary red band. Marinette had toyed with the idea of putting her in white and black pin-striped tights, and now that she thought about it she decided to go with it. For fun she posed the model in mid-charleston step, her knees together and one foot popped.

Then, in honour of her alias, Marinette added a detailed sketch of her model’s earrings in the upper corner of the page. A pair of round studs, red with five black spots on a golden setting.

She felt satisfied for the moment, so Marinette closed her sketchbook and pushed it aside before she could over think her work and completely change it again, like she had four times already.

_ Now, _ she thought with a complete lack of enthusiasm,  _ two chapters on the international wool trade. _


	5. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette gets a shock. Glazed hams, pizza and secret identities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 900 hits already! *flails*

Marinette dozed at the back of the classroom. She’d been up late finishing her homework and as a result she slept through her alarm and missed her first class of the morning. It had been her life-drawing class, which she was fairly certain she could afford to miss once. Her head began to tilt back over her chair when Chloe’s nasally voice cut through her growing unconsciousness and dropped Marinette abruptly back into the world of the living. She let out a little groan of annoyance.  _ I need to get it together. _ She slapped her cheeks lightly to wake herself up, then took a long drink of her cooling tea.

She’d gotten her marks back on her Historical Undergarments report earlier in the afternoon. They weren’t good. She’d gotten a passing grade, but just barely. When she read over the remarks from her teacher she felt her stomach plummet. She’d made so many ridiculous errors that could have been prevented if she’d been paying closer attention. 

She hadn’t cried in the bathroom in over a year. That streak broke today.

Marinette tried to swallow back the bitter disappointment she felt with herself and focus on catching up with the teacher’s notes. She was correcting the date she’d written down wrong on the first sewing machine patent when Chloe let out a little excited squeal. The teacher, apparently, hadn’t heard it and was droning on about the industrial revolution. Marinette’s eyes fell on the back of Chloe’s head for a moment, but her attention was caught by the image she had open on her black and yellow tablet.

No.

Chloe’s manicured fingers pinched and zoomed in on the picture. There in magnified detail was Marinette’s contemporary flapper design.

Sabrina leaned over to look at Chloe’s tablet, making a little happy gasp of her own. “Oh that’s adorable!” Marinette heard her exclaim in a whisper.

“Of course it is,” Chloe pushed Sabrina’s face away from her’s before zooming out on the picture and scrolling further down the webpage. “It wouldn’t be on the Gabriel’s website otherwise.”

“Is this part of the new collection?”

Chloe tsked and rolled her eyes at her… friend? “Oh my god, Sabrina. It’s the Miraculous contest.”

Marinette listened to Chloe impatiently explain things to Sabrina like she were a child, then to her surprise and slight horror, she watched her press the vote button directly below the picture.

_ She doesn’t know it’s mine. _

Sabrina had her own tablet out now and was hitting the vote button as well.

_ This is a dream. Some weird surrealist dream. I’m going to look up and the teacher’s head will be a glazed ham. _

She looked up, but the teacher’s head was still a mess of wiry gray hairs and wrinkles.

Marinette quietly pulled out her phone from her pocket and sent a quick text to Alya.

 

**Chloe just voted for my entry. - M**

 

**She might be a slug, but at least she’s a slug with good taste. - A**

 

**How’s your cold? - M**

 

**At doctor’s. Sinus and ear infection. Will probably need antibiotics. - A**

 

**Ew. Feel better soon! - M**

 

She slipped her phone back into her pocket just as her teacher’s watery eyes passed over her while scanning the room to make sure everyone was listening to his anecdote on misdirected attempts at improving sewing machine technology.

He opened his mouth to continue, but the class was saved by one student putting her tiny hand up in the air and pointing out the time. Visibly embarrassed, the teacher reminded them all to look up a collection of diagrams in their textbooks and be prepared to label them next class.

Marinette packed up her things and hurried home.

 

\---

 

Adrien was the only person in the patisserie by the time Marinette walked in through the back. He had the radio in the kitchen cranked up so much that he didn’t hear her come in. Marinette stood by the counter behind him and watched him dance badly to Jagged Stone while he scrubbed down the big sink. The guitar began to wail. Adrien threw his head back and did a spin. He spotted Marinette. She expected that he’d stop dancing and feel embarrassed. That’s what she’d do. But Adrien grinned at her and proceeded to headbang along to the beat. Marinette laughed at his antics, but she needed to ask him a question.

“Where’s mama and papa?” She said loudly. She knew they weren’t home. Her dad HATED Jagged Stone.

Adrien looked at her questioningly and put a hand to his ear as though he were asking her to repeat herself. Marinette shook her head and sighed. She reached over and flicked the switch on the radio, cutting Jagged Stone off at the final verse of his most recent rock ballad.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself. Where are my parents?” She asked again.

Another spin and Adrien whipped a dishtowel from where it hung on the fridge door handle. He wiped dishwater and soap suds from his hands. “I gave them the night off. Nice of me, isn’t it?” He tucked the towel into the strings of his apron and placed his hands on his hips with a smirk. “There was a concert Sabine wanted to go to. Tom took her. I offered to stay late and clean up so they wouldn’t have to when they got back.”

“Saint Adrien of the Scrub Brush.” Marinette let out a little sigh and adjusted the shoulder strap of her school bag so it didn’t cut so much into her neck. “Did you eat yet?”

He shook his head. “You want me to take that?” He asked, indicating to her bag. “You look exhausted.”

“You know exactly what to say to a girl…” She shrugged the strap off her shoulder and let Adrien take her bag. He grunted, obviously surprised by the weight of it. “I’ve got three tests and a practical next week.” She said as a sort of apology. Another thought suddenly crossed her mind. “Aaand I just remembered the five sketches I need to finish for Monday. Damn it!”

Adrien took Marinette’s stack of books off the counter where she’d placed them and headed for the apartment stairs. Marinette followed, her feet dragging.

She was exhausted.

Marinette unlocked the apartment door and opened it for Adrien. He carefully dropped her school things onto the bench just inside the door. “Well,” he said, “anything else I can help with? I can head home now if-”

Was she giving him a dismissive vibe? She knew she wasn’t the most pleasant person when she was feeling tired, but Adrien didn’t deserve that. “Oh! No, please stay.” Marinette said quickly.

He stared at her, surprised.

“I-” admittedly, this was true, “I don’t like eating alone. Have dinner. I can-”

“I’ll make something.” He offered before she could, much to Marinette’s obvious relief. She did feel a little bad for taking his generosity, but she didn’t think she could stand at the stove, much less cook anything. Forget handling knives.

Adrien kicked his floury shoes off and headed for the kitchen and Marinette made a bee-line for the couch.  
“Is pizza okay?”

“Pizza is perfect.” She draped her arm over her eyes and felt herself begin to sink into a light sleep. She didn’t fight it.  _ Let me drown. _

All too soon however, Adrien was nudging her knee with his own. Marinette glanced up from behind her elbow. He smiled down at her, holding a plate in each hand. She shifted over on the couch to give him better access to the arm rest. He handed her a plate as he sat down.

“How long was I asleep?” She asked. The pizza smelled like was cooked by angels. She didn’t realize how hungry she was until she saw it, steaming pleasantly beneath her nose.

“About an hour and a half,” Adrien replied after swallowing a small mouthful of crust and cheese.

“What?!”

“You looked like you needed it.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

He laughed. “It’s fine. I’ve cleaned your kitchen several times. It’s not like I expect you to entertain me.”

Marinette glanced aside at Adrien. “Papa should give you a raise.” She took a bite of her own pizza. Flavour exploded in her mouth. Adrien had made the crust from scratch, she could tell. It was perfectly firm on the bottom, soft and puffy beneath the toppings. He’d kneaded herbs into the dough as well. “Double pay. Definitely double. This is amazing!”

He laughed again, this time somewhat nervously. His cheeks took a slight pink tinge. “I’m glad you like it. I’ve been working on the crust recipe for a year. I think it’s almost perfect.”

“Almost?”

“There’s always ways to improve.”

She finished her slice and was about to start on the second when she asked, “how long have you been cooking?”

“Two years now?” He paused and thought for a moment. “No, three. Almost three.”

Marinette recalled then something her dad had told her when she was little. “Never trust a skinny cook.” He’d told her in complete seriousness. She gave Adrien’s profile a once-over and burst into giggles. He was the physical opposite to her father, almost rail thin. But, she supposed, that was likely because of his metabolism. She’d watched him eat, witnessed him gratefully accept second helpings from her mother and finish everything on his plate. He loved food.

His eyebrow raised. “Something funny?”

She shook her head and coughed down her laughter.

She was feeling better.

 

\---

 

They finished their dinner and Marinette begged off cleaning to start on her assignments. It was just a few plates and a big knife. She set up at the island with her books while Adrien filled the sink. He was about to start when she told him to wait and stand still. He did. One of his hands rested on the counter, the other held a scrub brush. He didn’t move for a whole two minutes while he heard the sound of a pencil scratching against thick paper behind him.

“Okay you can move again.” She said, sounding satisfied. “Thanks for being my model.”

_ Hah! _

Adrien washed the dishes quickly. He asked Marinette if she wanted coffee, she asked for tea instead. He put the kettle on to boil and got down two mugs from the cupboard.

She was hunched over a book and looking at what appeared to be mechanical diagrams.

“I thought you were a fashion designer, not a… mechanic?”

Marinette blinked up at him in confusion for a second, but seemed to quickly clue into what he was referring to. “Oh, this is a schematic for a sewing machine,” she said dismissively. “It’s good to know how to take one apart and reassemble it.”

“Right. In case of emergency.”

“Exactly.”

“Like a bobbin transplant.”

She threw a pencil at him.

He caught it and set it back on the island next to her sketch book. The kettle screamed. Adrien prepared a cup of tea for Marinette and an instant coffee for himself. She didn’t look up from taking notes when he placed her mug next to her. She just said a quick “thanks” and kept writing.

He watched her for a while. Her nose wrinkled a little when she was concentrating, but as she continued her studying a distinct crease began to form in her brow. She’d had that nap while he made dinner and she’d perked up a bit more after eating, but she still looked tired and harassed. It was probably a good idea for Adrien to leave and head home, but she hadn’t given him any indication that she  _ wanted _ him to leave and he was starting to feel more concerned for her the longer he watched her work.

She finally stopped to take a sip of her tea.

He hadn’t wanted to interrupt her so he took this as his chance to ask. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?” She schooled her features carefully to try to verify her statement. It didn’t work.

_ Tread lightly, Adrien. _ “You just seem a little stressed, that’s all.”

To his relief she snorted. “Yeah, a little.”

He didn’t ask her to elaborate.

Marinette leaned back on her chair and made a little sigh as she clutched her mug with two hands. “Yeah… Things are just… Today was weird and I screwed up an assignment in the most idiotic way possible.”

“Do you think maybe,” he was being very careful to keep his tone light and inquisitive, not nagging, “you’re pushing yourself too hard?”

“Probably.” She replied quietly.

“What was the assignment on?”

“Historical undergarments.”

“Hmm… What was wrong with it? Too…  **_brief_ ** ?”

“Adrien…” she said warningly. Okay, not in the mood for jokes.

Adrien sipped his coffee.

“What do you think of having a secret identity?” 

Adrien sputtered his coffee. “Wha-”

She’d set her mug down and was resting her chin in the palm of her hand and looking thoughtful.

“You mean, like a super hero thing?”

She shook her head. “No no no. Nevermind. It’s silly.”

“Marinette,” Adrien leaned forward on the island and looked very seriously at her. “If you’re a masked vigilante and patrolling the streets of Paris at night... I won’t tell your parents.”

She glowered at him, but her lips were smiling as she firmly pushed his nose away with her index finger.

_ How did I not notice her freckles before? _

“Here I am worried about sounding foolish to  _ you  _ of all people.” She picked up her pencil and began doodling absently in the margins of her notes. “I’ve got no time to fight crime. Too much homework. And I need to find a landscape to sketch this weekend. I doubt searching for a nice view is easy to do when you’re chasing monsters.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, you let me know. I am not against pulling on some spandex myself.”

“I don’t need to see that.”

“Your loss, my friend.”

Suddenly Marinette yawned. There was Adrien’s cue to leave. He put his mug in the sink. I’d better get going. And maybe you should go to bed.”

She rubbed at her eye with the heel of her hand. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll just finish up these notes first.”

Marinette followed him to the door and leaned against the wall while he tied his shoes. He’d left his jacket hanging up downstairs. He glanced at her as he opened the apartment door to leave. She smiled at him and offered a tired little wave. “Thanks for dinner, Adrien. Goodnight.”

“Any time.” He smiled back. _Any time._ _All the time._ “See you around.”

He hurried down the stairs, threw on his jacket and left the patisserie. 

All he could think about on the walk home was how badly he’d wanted to kiss Marinette. That would’ve been a bad idea. A very bad idea. She was exhausted and focussed on school. She was his boss’s daughter. He was just the scruffy guy that worked in the shop. Adrien happened to glance up as he walked by one of those damned Chat Noir billboards.  _ You’d have no trouble. _ He sneered at the face that once was his. It was an old picture and Adrien’s face had been retouched to look older than his 18 years from the time it was taken. That life he’d left behind, what felt like ages ago, only a mere two and a half years.

_ “...I need to find a landscape…” _

There was something he could do to help Marinette. It meant going back to the last place he ever wanted to be, but that’s where his mother’s photo album was. Tucked away in his old bedroom in a box of other childhood treasures he’d left behind in his desperation to get away.

_ Hopefully father didn’t empty the place out.  _ The bitterness he felt was palpable.  _ Hopefully he’s out of town... _


	6. Welcome and Unwelcome Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impulses lead Nino and Adrien in two completely different directions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovely readers! I'm sorry about the long wait for this chapter. Life, a bout of writer's block and two sick kids gave me plenty to work around. And now I'm dealing with the likelihood that I'm getting arthritis in my knees (I'm not even 30 yet -_-).
> 
> Enough excuses!
> 
> Thank you for your continued support <3!

**I’m going to have to cancel on you this weekend. - Alya**

 

**Did your cold get worse? - Ninorino**

 

**I’d buy stock in facial tissues if I were you. - Alya**

 

**Do you want me to bring you anything? - Ninorino**

 

**Aww, sweet! But no. I should be quarantined. - Alya**

 

**Get lots of rest. Maybe do something next week? - Ninorino**

 

**I’ll let you surprise me ;) - Alya**

 

**Wow… you /are/ sick. - Ninorino**

 

**Lack of oxygen to my brain. I’m delirious. Nothing I say can be trusted. - Alya**

 

Nino put his phone away in his pocket and tried not to feel too disappointed. It’d only been a few weeks since they’d started dating, but he was having a hard time thinking about what he was going to do  _ without _ Alya. This was going to be a rare weekend off from his usual gig DJing at the nightclub and they’d made plans to walk around Paris pretending to be tourists and take all sorts of obnoxious pictures at every landmark they came across.

There was always sitting on the couch and binge-playing his Playstation. A tempting prospect if he knew he wouldn’t be all alone in the apartment like a sad sack of melancholy. Adrien had been spending more time at the bakery lately. It wasn’t likely they’d see each other much at all.

Nino pulled his phone out again. He had an idea. Alya was the one to make plans for the two of them every time they went out together. She HAD said that she would let him surprise her. He dialed his grandmother’s number and waited for her to pick up.

 

\---

 

This was a huge, stupid mistake. A silly impulse. He had no intention of ever setting foot near this house again in his life, but here he was… Adrien stared up at the imposing gray megalith that was his childhood home. A place that was supposed to be filled with warm memories and evoke feelings of yearning for days past. Instead it was cold monument to disappointment and solitude. He felt a tightness in his chest as he approached the front gate. He’d thought about how he was going to go about getting inside. His original plan had been to sneak in through his bathroom window, like he had so often in his teenaged years, but it was very likely that his father had upped the security measures since Adrien left.

_ Would I rather risk seeing dad? Or get arrested… Well, I’ve never been in the backseat of a police cruiser before. This is pathetic. _

No lights seemed to be on inside the house, from what Adrien could see.

The code for the front gate rotated between three separate sequences, so long as that hadn’t changed. It was unlikely as his father didn’t like to deviate much from his habits. He was far too busy to keep track of such things. Adrien had a 33% chance of getting it right. Two failures would result in the alarm going off. Then a meeting with Monsieur Policeman.

He punched in his mother’s birthdate. A beep.

Nothing.

_ Damn! _

That left two possible options. It was either Adrien’s birthday, or the date of Gabriel’s debut on Paris Fashion Week.

He put in the debut date.

The gate hummed and slowly swung open, allowing him access to the front walk. The code for the front door would probably be the same. 

It was.

He wanted to get this over with quickly, so Adrien slipped into the manor keeping as silent as possible.

 

\---

 

Nino’s arms were aching under the weight of the bags his grandmother had foisted on him. He’d only asked for a couple servings of homemade minestrone soup. Nonina delivered alright. He had three jars of soup, a bag of lemons, fresh biscotti, a kilogram of almond butter, a loaf of bread and her special extra spicy antipasto. She must have started cooking as soon as Nino phoned her.

Alya’s apartment was all the way across downtown from Nonina’s house. It was times like this he wished he had a car. Or at least that he’d replaced his bicycle after it got stolen over a year ago. Two busses, three blocks and four flights of stairs (Alya’s building had never gotten retrofitted with an elevator) later and he was standing outside her apartment door with the ‘little something’ that only an Italian grandmother would think was insufficient. He didn’t want to put the bags down for fear that he wouldn’t be able to pick them up again, so he knocked on the door using the peak of his ballcap.

There was a thud and quick, muffled cursing from inside before the door cracked open. Only a sliver and Alya’s puffy amber eye squinted out at him. “What the- Nino! What are you doing here?!” Her voice was warped and raspy.

He grinned at the half of her face that he could see. “I’m surprising you. Unless you were sleeping, in which case I’m terribly sorry.”

Her eye narrowed further for a moment then she sighed. “No, I can’t sleep, as much as I’ve been trying.”

“Can I come in?” He could feel his elbows starting to give out.

She coughed or laughed, it was hard to tell. “No way! I look like a creature from a silent horror movie. This isn’t something I want a guy I just started dating to see.”

“You saw my Ninja Turtle boxers.”

“Those aren’t scary.”

“You saw my surgical scar from when I had my appendix removed.”

“And I would very much like to have the chance to see it again. You’re not coming in.”

He groaned with a mix of frustration and strain. “Okay, but I’ve brought half of my Nonina’s pantry and my arms are about to fall off.”

“You what?!” Alya swung her door wide open. Her eyes fell on the bags. “Oh my god, Nino! You didn’t carry those all up the stairs.”

Her hair was everywhere, like she’d tried to put it up but lost the strength and the will halfway through. Her nose was red and whistled softly when she breathed. This was not the blustery and confident, put together Alya he’d gotten to know over the last month. She looked a lot smaller in her pajamas and housecoat. 

She was adorable.

Alya clicked her tongue and took two of the bags from him and motioned for him to follow. She lead him to the kitchen where he gratefully divested his burden. The jars clanked as they were placed on the counter. She looked through one of the bags she’d taken, shaking her head. “What is all of this?”

“I’m a terrible cook.” He beamed, unashamed. “So I called my Nonina and asked her if she could make some soup for me.”

Alya muttered “oh my god…” again and lifted up the mesh bag of lemons.

“You’re supposed to slice those and put them in your water.” He didn’t mention that his grandmother had also insisted that he bring Alya over for dinner as soon as possible once she’d gotten out of him that he was seeing someone.

“Is this homemade minestrone?” She asked, astonished as she pointed at one of the massive jars on the counter.

“Fresh as of a few hours ago, yeah.”

“Oh my god…”

Alya didn’t say anything else as she went through the bags and looked at everything he’d brought for her. Her silence was a little unnerving. As she dug into the third bag Nino was starting to doubt that coming here was a good idea. She seemed annoyed with him just showing up like this… and then to admit that he’d gone to his granny to get food instead of doing it himself-

Alya started to giggle. His doubt was crushed.

“I love Italian grandmothers!” She said between wheezy snickers. “You’re so lucky your’s is local. My nonina lives in Rome. Thank you! But you’re going to have to take some of this back to your place. There’s no way I could eat it all myself.” She started for the cupboard where she kept her bowls, but Nino stepped in and started pulling down a set of dishes for each of them. He shooed her away from the kitchen, imitating his grandmother and making her laugh. Alya collapsed into a big armchair and let him heat up a bowl of soup for her.

 

\---

 

Adrien’s room hadn’t changed in the slightest since he’d last been in it. The tv remote was still sitting askew on the coffee table. A stack of old graphic novels leaned precariously by his overcrowded bookshelf. One of his action figures still lay on its side in the glass display case from when he had accidently knocked it over while in his rush to pack as much as he could into a duffle bag. He’d left so much behind.

His father had compensated for his lack of involvement with his son’s life with an abundance of extravagant gifts. Anything that might amuse him, occupy him was kept in this room. Gabriel had wanted to make sure that Adrien never needed to venture out for any reason other than a modelling job. And even then, he was closely monitored by an employee.

The only reason Adrien had started modelling in the first place was his naive belief that it would let him spend more time with his father.

Surprise. It hadn’t.

He swallowed against a hardening lump in his throat and headed for the walk-in closet. There was an air vent just inside the door. Adrien fished a multitool out of his pocket and loosened the screws on the cover. 

A moment later he had the cover off and was reaching inside the vent. His hand brushed against several cobwebs but it didn’t take him long to feel out what he’d come here for. He closed his fingers around the edge of a plastic storage bin and pulled it out. A thin layer of dust covered the lid. He brushed the dust off and wiped his hand off on his jeans. The bin wasn’t overly large, about the size of a shoe box, but it held some of the most valuable items Adrien had ever owned.

He peeled the lid off carefully, trying his best to mute the ‘click click click’ of the seal coming loose. There, sitting at the very top of the treasure pile, was his mother’s photo album. Adrien picked it up and flipped it open to a random page. Even in the dim light, he could make out the image of a cliff face in Switzerland, where they had gone camping the summer of the year he turned 10. A few more flips later and he came to a tiny cottage peeking out from between the trunks of enormous fir trees. His mother had told him that a friendly old goblin lived there, but he was invisible to little boys who didn’t eat their vegetables.

Thousands of memories were stored in these pictures. Each one had been taken by his mother. She’d had an eye and a gift for capturing the perfect shots. The story was that she’d met his father at a fashion show, where Gabriel was working as an assistant and Elaine as a model. And while Elaine Agreste continued to do some modelling to help Gabriel as he established himself as a Parisian designer, she much preferred to work behind the camera.

Adrien closed the album and carefully tucked it into his inner coat pocket. He scanned the remaining contents of the box to see if he wanted to take anything else. There were rocks, buttons, a broken action figure he’d saved from getting thrown out… There wasn’t really anything of great value to an adult, but all of these things were of the highest importance to a child. He pawed through it one last time and uncovered a fuzzy black lump, about the size of his fist. Smiling to himself, Adrien lifted out the small plush cat he’d gotten out a vending machine. The keychain clip had fallen off years ago, but this grumpy looking little creature had been attached to every one of Adrien’s bags and jackets from the time he was 6 until he was 12. He’d wanted a real cat, but his dad’s allergies prevented him from getting one. Adrien stuffed it into his pocket as well and set to work replacing everything else back to the way he’d found it.

Once the vent cover was reattached, Adrien checked the clock on his phone and decided it was long past time he left.

 

\---

Nino said he didn’t intend to stay long, but it didn’t take Alya much effort to convince him to stay for a movie, then a little cuddling… and, well… she was feeling a bit better and Nino was looking exceptionally attractive. She smiled to herself contentedly as she basked in the warmth of Nino’s bare chest against her cheek.

She reflected, as she began to drift off to sleep, that this was the fastest she’d ever started to feel herself become serious about another person. She and Nino hadn’t placed any restrictions on each other about seeing other people. They weren’t exclusive. But after their first date, Alya hadn’t even thought to cast her eye out to anyone else. She didn’t want to. She’d thought that Nino was just going to be another quick, one-time thing. Another easy going guy she could play around with a bit before moving on to the next thing. He’d flirted with her at the club when she was scoping the place for work. He’d looked so confident behind those turn-tables, orchestrating the atmosphere for the entire dance floor. Giving him her number seemed like a sure thing. But when he didn’t contact her for weeks, she found herself becoming annoyed. Angry even.

Seeing him at the station was a surprise. She hadn’t known that he was a sound engineer by day, and DJ extraordinaire at night. And his bumbling reaction to seeing her in the elevator. He wasn’t a self-possessed pillar of confidence afterall. After getting to know him better, Alya realized that he wasn’t the type of guy to just mess around for a little while either.

She breathed him in and felt herself melt into a deep sleep.

 

\---

 

Adrien pulled his bedroom door shut behind him and set off down the stairs to the main hall but stopped short and froze.

“My apologies, Mr. Agreste, for interrupting you at this hour. I saw on the security manifest that you’d just gotten home.” The figure didn’t look up from her tablet or notice who she was really talking to. “An e-mail came in from Florence Krane about getting Ladybug’s contact information, and we’ve gotten an updated report on the social media hits surrounding the contest-” She finally glanced up. The only sign of surprise on her face was a twitch of her perfectly maintained eyebrows. Then her eyes narrowed behind her square-rimmed glasses.

Adrien couldn’t move.

A flash of recognition.

“Felix?”

“Nathalie…”

She took a trepidatious step forward, staring up at him in confusion. “What are you-”

Adrien held his hands up. “I was just leaving.” He said firmly. He bounded down the stairs and quickly stepped past her, trying to calm his pounding heart for fear it was going to burst right through his ribs.

She turned and watched him. He could feel her eyes following him. Before he opened the door to leave, however, he turned back and stared at her with the most pleading look he could muster. “Please, Nathalie… Don’t tell my father.”

She neutralized her expression immediately. “I have a responsibility, Felix. Your father-”

“Please.”

She closed her mouth, her lips forming a thin line. Adrien smiled at her sadly. Most people wouldn’t be able to read Nathalie’s intentions when she got like this. But he knew. His quiet life as a bakery worker was now in jeopardy.

Adrien pulled the front door open and stepped out into the night air.

“It is good to see you’re well.” She said flatly.

He closed the door and walked home.


	7. When it Pours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expectations and reality don't often meet. And sometimes they do and the results can be just as jarring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Can't. Believe. The amazing response to the last chapter has had me reeling all day! I'm so glad so many of you liked it! And thank you so much for the lovely comments some of you left for me. I read them and then this chapter practically wrote itself.

Rain. Of course it had to be raining over the weekend. Marinette’s knack for having the worst possible luck dictated that if she needed to get out and sketch a landscape, there was going to be a complete downpour that was forecast to last until Monday morning. On the bright side, the bakery had been absolutely bereft of customers since they’d opened. Everyone was having breakfast in their own homes. Marinette was using her time minding the storefront to finish a still life and a study in contrast. Her dad had been delighted to model for her first thing that morning, so all that remained was the landscape.

It was almost noon when the door chimed, announcing her first customer of the day.

“How can I- Adrien!”

He smiled broadly from under the weight of his drenched hood. “Hey! Where’s Sabine?” He peeled the hood back to reveal a head of sopping wet hair. He looked even more disheveled than Marinette thought possible.

“She’s visiting an old friend. Did you need her for something?” She picked up one of the emergency towels they kept behind the counter and passed it to him.

He said a quick thanks and ruffled the towel through his hair before wiping the droplets of water off his face and neck. “Oh no, actually I wanted to see you.”

She blinked at him.

“Ah…” he glanced away, bunching the damp towel up in his hands. “I was wondering if you were feeling better. Y’know, since last night.”

_ Oh.  _ “Yeah, much better!” She said cheerfully. If she looked happy, she might not let on how embarrassed she still felt about having Adrien fuss over her the night before. She’d been a wreck, and he’d been so nice when he absolutely didn’t need to. She wanted to thank him somehow but had absolutely no ideas. “Thanks again.”

“At your service,” he swept himself into a deep bow and Marinette rolled her eyes. “Anyway, you mentioned something about a sketch last night, and it reminded me of something.” He reached into his jacket, presumably into an inner pocket, and pulled out a rectangular object wrapped in a plastic bag. He handed the bundle to Marinette.

She peeled back the bag carefully. It was a bound photo album. The spine was a little worn at the corners, but it looked like it had been stored very carefully. The initials ‘E.A.’ were written on the back in black permanent marker, a little faded, but still legible. She looked up at Adrien.

He draped the towel around his shoulders and rocked back on his heels, looking a little bashful. “My mother was an amature photographer. She liked to take shots of nature and scenery. I thought, maybe, this might be useful… especially with the weather.”

Marinette opened the album and turned to the first picture. She felt her breath hitch. The picture was striking, a field full of flowers lit by a sunrise as it broke over the mountains in the background. She turned the page, scanning the pictures with hungry eyes. “These are incredible! You said she was an amature?”

Adrien was scratching the back of his head and smiled down at the album. “Yeah, she never did it professionally. She could have. She wanted to, but she just never got around to doing it seriously.”

Marinette sensed some sadness in Adrien’s tone. He’d never talked about his family before. Had he lost his mother? Losing one of her own parents was one of the worst things Marinette could think of. She didn’t think she would be able to handle it. How much was Adrien hiding behind that goofy smile and terrible sense of humour? She looked at a few more pictures to keep herself from watching Adrien too closely in case he noticed her staring. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to borrow this?”

“Oh sure,” he waved a hand nonchalantly. “It was just sitting in a box in my closet.”

She closed the album and pressed it to her chest. “I’ll be extremely careful with it!”

He laughed. “I trust you.”

“You’ve helped me again. I don’t know how I can repay you, Adrien.”

Adrien’s jovial smile turned into a smirk loaded with mischief in the blink of an eye. He leaned on the counter, putting his face mere centimeters from Marinette’s. He tapped his cheek with his index finger, waggling his eyebrows at her suggestively.

She glared at him but laughed. “Ugh, you look like a drowned kitten.” She pushed his nose away with her own finger.

“It was worth a shot.” He rubbed the end of his nose and took a few steps back. “I wouldn’t mind seeing what you sketch when it’s finished, though.”

That was absolutely reasonable. Marinette agreed to let him see the drawing and promised to return the album as soon as she was finished with it. Adrien didn’t stay to chat any longer, said he had some errands to run, and went back out in the pouring rain.

Marinette began packing the album back into its bag when something thumped lightly against the counter. She glanced down. A tiny black lump glowered up at her. She was taken aback for a second. Was this Adrien’s? She picked the little plush up and turned it over in her hands. It was familiar. Thinking back, she remembered seeing something like this years ago. There was a vending machine at the coliseum. She could remember begging her mama for some coins so she could try getting one of the little purple butterfly creatures. She’d gotten a little red creature with black spots instead. Come to think of it, that may have been what started her fixation with polkadots.

The black cat was part of that set. But they were supposed to be keychains. This one was missing its clip. It would be simple to get a replacement. Maybe that’s what she could do to pay Adrien back, even if it was just a little bit.

 

\---

 

Nathalie had not been able to relax since last night, and she absolutely hated being frazzled. Regular, work related stress was something she was accustomed to. She thrived in it. Seeing Felix had completely thrown her.

She’d resolved to tell Mr. Agreste everything. Felix had been to the house. His appearance had changed. He was probably still in the city. She would begin tracking him down immediately. That’s what she told herself as she approached Gabriel’s office.

She knocked and was bid to come in.

“Good morning, sir.” She greeted her employer with a slight bow of her head. Calm, cool and collected Nathalie.

She passed Gabriel the social media stats and her tablet with the company e-mails open on the screen. “Morning, Nathalie. How was your evening off?” The typical throwaway nicety.

She swallowed slightly, remembering the look on Felix’s face. “Uneventful, sir.”

“Hmm.” He tapped his finger against his desk as he scanned through the reports. “Hits are up. Good. How is the projection for next issue’s sales?”

Nathalie adjusted her glasses and scanned through the pages she still had. “Projections show a likely 57% increase from last year. Printing begins later this week. The editors just want to get your final approval before submitting the pages.”

“Have them send the template later today.”

“Very well.”

His finger tapping stopped as Gabriel got to the reports from the online voting for the design contest. “Is this current?” He picked the page up and looked it over again, adjusting his glasses.

“Yes,” Nathalie replied. “As of last night. Voting closed at midnight.”

“Well isn’t that remarkable. Ladybug seems to be a favourite. Are you sure this wasn’t skewed?”

“No, sir. As per your suggestion, we didn’t make the voting stats available to the public.”  


"Surprising that something this avant-garde would be in line with the interests of the target demographic."

"Sir, if I may, Ladybug's entry scored very well with teenagers and voters up to the age of 35. At least those who inputted their age range as such in the survey."

He ‘hmm’ed again. Setting down the papers he picked up the tablet and started scrolling through the e-mails. Nathalie had checked off the ones that were specifically for him and moved everything else to a separate folder for her to deal with herself. He tapped through a few of them. “Yuri wants me to meet him in Milan… Helga is sending me more pictures of her bloody cat… Florence? I haven’t heard from Florence Krane in years.”

Nathalie stood by and waited for Gabriel to read through the entire e-mail. She’d pre-screened it the night before. Krane was one of Gabriel’s biggest competitors. Things were civil between them for the most part. There was a mutual respect, but each man was constantly trying to outdo the other. Florence had been quiet for the last few years, leading Gabriel to suspect that he was up to something big. The e-mail from Florence Krane’s office was an inquiry about contacting the contestant Ladybug. They didn’t state a reason, but it was safe to assume that the amature designer had caught his interest and he wanted to approach them about a possible partnership. Gabriel was no fool. By the look on his face as he got to the end of the e-mail, he’d drawn the same conclusion Nathalie had. Annoyed amusement. “That idiot.” Gabriel sneered. “As if I’d give him anything.”

He handed the tablet back to Nathalie. “Thank you, Nathalie.”

It was her dismissal. She tucked the tablet carefully under her arm and was about to turn to leave when her conscience finally lost out to her sense of duty. “Sir, one last thing.”

Gabriel glanced up at her over his glasses.

Her stomach twisted. “Sir, there’s… I received information that Felix may be back in Paris.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “Where did this information come from? Did they want compensation?”

She shook her head. “No sir, it was one of my reliable sources. They only saw him for a moment, but they were certain it was him. They’d spotted him late last night.”

“Any stirring from the tabloids?”

“No sir, they’ve not been making inquiries.”

“Very good. If it was last night then he’s likely still within the city limits. Contact Vincent.”

“Yes sir.”

He waved her off and turned back to the reports. Nathalie left, feeling unsure of herself. She’d observed the relationship between father and son for years and always wondered at the total lack of warmth her boss seemed to show for his own child. Felix had always been a rather melancholy child, but the last thing either her or Gabriel expected was for him to run off almost immediately after his 18th birthday.

She pulled out her cellphone. There was no point in reflecting on the distant past. She had a task to handle and she needed to focus on that. She punched in the number of their private investigator to pass on his newest set of instructions.

 

\---

 

Alya was feeling like she was on top of the world. She’d just finished her antibiotics the day before. Nearly two weeks of swallowing those nasty tasting pills twice a day was over. She could breathe easily again. No more ear pain, no more loafing around her apartment feeling like a bag of garbage.

She was almost finished catching up on the work she’d been unable to do while she was away from the office. Some things she handled at home when she could, but there were profiles piling up in her inbox faster than ever as they were approaching the winter season. Christmas ads, radio taglines, contract pitches. Busy busy busy.

Alya had rushed out of the office as soon as 5 pm hit to drop off another application to the tv station and the news director couldn’t confirm, but did heavily imply that there may be a position opening up for an events reporter.

Poor Nino had caught her cold. It was for the best that she didn’t have a reason to linger though. She was meeting Marinette for dinner. Today was the day the winter issue of G Magazine went on sale with the results of the contest. They’d promised each other not to look at the results until they were together and sitting down. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

She had her copy of the magazine sitting on the passenger seat of her car when she pulled up to the patisserie. She could see Marinette inside the window, talking to a blond-haired guy standing behind the counter. Alya waited a minute for Marinette to notice her, but when that silly girl didn’t look out the window, she gave a quick blast of her horn.

Marinette jumped. Alya laughed. She saw her best friend wave to the guy in the apron before she bounced out of the shop and practically skipped all the way to the car. But, true to form, Marinette slipped mere steps from the car door and nearly crashed into the windshield. She only barely managed to catch herself before throwing her door open and collapsing into the seat.

Alya reached under Marinette’s thigh and pulled the magazine out from beneath her.

Marinette stared at the front cover. “Oh god, I’ve been trying so hard to not think about this all day.”

“Want to look now? We are, technically, sitting down.”

She squeezed big blue eyes shut and pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Yes! NO! I’m shaking! Ugh, I hate it when I get like this!”

“Oh Marinette, you’re precious. Tell you what, we'll go to the restaurant. I'll park the car, then we'll look at the results. It wouldn't do to be squealing like caffeinated piglets in a high class joint like McD’s.”

Alya had been raised on gourmet cooking thanks to her mother being a professional chef, but she had a craving that only a carton of hot greasy fries was going to satisfy.

Marinette stared at the cover of the magazine, the entire ride, like it was going to eat her face. When they pulled in behind the fast food restaurant, Alya cut the engine, took off her seatbelt and turned to her best friend. “Okay. Shall we?”

Marinette nodded with a squeak. She picked up the new issue, her hands trembling, but after a full minute of holding it straight out in front of her, it didn’t seem like she was actually able to pull the cover back.

“Do you want me to do it?” Alya offered helpfully.

“I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

Alya rolled down Marinette’s window. She held out her hand. Marinette passed her the magazine with an audible sigh of relief. Alya shook her head. The index said that the contest results for this round were printed on page 74.

Alya gave Marinette’s knee a gentle pat before she began flipping through the pages. “We don’t even need to read it to know you did amazing. Just breathe.”

Marinette inhaled deeply.

“Ah! Here it is!” Alya began scanning through the pages. Marinette kept her eyes clamped shut.

Alya stopped at the end of the third and final page and doubled back. Had she missed something? Her silence caught Marinette’s attention. She cracked an eye open and peeked at the magazine as it lay open in Alya’s lap. “What! Tell me! You’re killing me, Alya!”

The pit of Alya’s stomach plummeted. “Mari, I’m so sorry-”

Marinette opened her other eye and stared at Alya in disbelief. Her lips broke out in an incredulous smile and she made a weak little laugh through her nose. “That’s not a nice joke, Alya-”

Frowning and feeling utterly devastated, she showed the article to Marinette. “You didn’t… You didn’t even place. You got eliminated.” She pointed at the ‘special thanks’ box at the bottom of the article. That was the only mention of Ladybug in the entire piece.

Marinette slowly, silently, took the book from Alya and appeared to read through the results herself. If she actually saw the pages, Alya had no idea.

“Marinette, I’m so so sorry…” She’d been the one to get Marinette into this. This utter disappointment, nay insult was her own fault. She’d been so confident that Marinette would own this contest, she didn’t even consider the possibility that she could lose.

“It’s okay.” Marinette said quietly, closing the magazine and letting it lay limply on her knee. “It’s really okay, Alya.” She smiled. Alya knew that look far too well. Marinette was putting a happy face on now. She'd probably start crying the moment she was alone.

As though she'd read Alya’s mind, Marinette laughed and threw her arms around her neck. “Really, I'm okay!” She released Alya from the hug. “Gabriel’s a high fashion establishment. I guess my design wasn't what his clientele was looking for. Besides, at least I can go back to focussing on school. The next round involved making, like, six full outfits. I’ve got midterms coming up.”

Alya wanted so badly to cry but if Marinette was going to smile, she would too. “You're amazing, Mari.”

“I know. I think I deserve a milkshake.”


	8. Hunting and Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things seem to be settling down. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure how much I wanted to put in this chapter and I accidentally wrote 1000 words more than I intended to. Sorry not sorry.

 

Marinette had cried when she got home from dinner with Alya that night. At first she thought it was purely the disappointment of being rejected, but as she lay in bed, too tired to cry anymore, she started to feel a sense of relief. She’d told Alya that it was okay because getting eliminated meant she had one less thing to worry about. It was supposed to have just been a platitude. But there was truth in it.

The sting eased as the days went past. She threw herself entirely into her school work and actually started sketching for fun again in her spare time. Without the pressure of competition, she felt an old familiar joy in forming ideas out of nothing, drawings that were for her and only for her.

There’d been a moment in class when the sting hit her again, but only briefly. She overheard Chloe and Sabrina discussing the contest during a lecture on draping. Chloe, of course, was relentlessly severe in criticizing those who’d been eliminated.

“... too far in over their heads, of course. Thinking  _ they _ had a shot at impressing Gabriel. Ha! Who’d want to wear those rags. Like, ew!”

Sabrina readily agreed with everything Chloe said, adding similar sentiments and repeating them in different words.

Marinette wanted to remind them that they had voted for her… for Ladybug… themselves. But it was no use. She shouldn’t know that, and she didn’t want to get involved in a pointless arguement. The less she talked to Chloe the better. But listening to them made her intensely grateful for her anxiety-driven foresight to enter anonymously. Chloe and Sabrina would  _ LOVE _ to torment her about exactly this kind of thing.

No, it was over and Marinette was moving on.

They were getting their marked assignments back in her life drawing class today. Marinette thanked the teaching assistant as she handed back the portfolio she’d submitted last week. She was going to go to the art supply store afterwards to buy a frame. Adrien had only asked to see the landscape sketch, but she was going to get it mounted properly and give it to him as a gift.

When it was time to go Marinette carefully tucked her portfolio into her bookbag and gathered up the rest of her things to leave when she noticed that her purse was missing. Had she brought it to class with her?! Did she leave it behind in the lecture room?! Had it been stolen?!

Snatching up her bookbag and her coat, Marinette dashed out of the studio and ran as fast as she could. She nearly steamrolled someone as she went. Only an indignant shriek stopped her in her tracks.

“Freaking maniac!” Chloe snapped. “You could have killed me!”

“Chloe! Are you okay?!” cried Sabrina, panicked.

Marinette glared at them both. “Sorry. I don’t have time right now though, Chloe.” She was about to take off again when Chloe cleared her throat and pulled a small pink handbag out of her own massive purse. She waved it in Marinette’s face.

“Looking for this? You left it in the lecture room.”

Marinette snatched it out of Chloe’s hands and immediately opened the clasp to look inside.

“Pheh, you’re welcome.”

Nothing seemed to be missing. Marinette snapped it shut again and threaded the strap over her shoulder. “Thanks…” she muttered reluctantly. “Now excuse me, I need to go.”

Sabrina stood her ground, taking the silent cue from Chloe to try to inconvenience Marinette just a little bit longer.

Not having it, Marinette secured her bags to herself and jumped over the railing, avoiding Chloe and the last few stairs down to the main hall of the art building. It was a short drop, but Marinette felt a little sharp pain through her ankle when she landed.

_ Worth it _ . She thought as she stormed off, gingerly, in the direction of the art supply store.

 

\---

 

Adrien was taking a short break behind the bakery. The weather was getting colder. Today was a bit of a treat though. The sun was shining and there wasn’t much breeze. 

So far things had been alright. For a while after his little trip home Adrien was watching over his shoulder constantly for one of his father’s bodyguards to show up and carry him back to the manor. Perhaps he’d misread Nathalie. She might not have told Gabriel about him showing up. He glanced up from the novel he was reading, just in case.

Nobody there.

_ Excellent. _

His phone started to vibrate in his pocket just as he was about to turn the page. Marking his place with his thumb, Adrien pulled his phone out and saw that he’d gotten a text message from Nino.

Poor guy had just gotten over a nasty cold and then only a few days later accidentally gave himself food poisoning. After that Adrien went out and bought a slow cooker and made up a bunch of meals they could keep on hand in the freezer. Nino usually bought take-out or ate at his grandmother’s if Adrien didn’t make dinner, but he’d become determined lately to start cooking for himself. Presumably it was to impress his new girlfriend. Adrien hadn’t met her yet, but knew that she was Wonder Woman incarnate and that she grew up eating at internationally recognized restaurants or something. Adrien was going to start teaching Nino the basics, cooking pasta, once he was feeling better.

Expecting to see a plea for more stomach medication, Adrien chuckled to himself as he flipped the cover of his phone open and swiped to the main menu.

There were two messages, the second one arriving as soon as he had his messenger open.

 

**Somebody called me a few minutes ago.**

 

**They asked if I knew a Felix Agreste - Ninorino**

 

Adrien felt his heart stop. He typed in a reply so quickly he didn’t check to make sure auto correct didn’t scramble it.

 

**What did your tell they - DeuxA**

 

**I told them I hadn’t seen or talked to Felix in years. - Ninorino**

 

**THANK YOU - DeuxA**

 

**What’s going on? - Ninorino**

 

Adrien sighed heavily. There was an ache beginning to form in the space between his eyebrows. They were looking for him and they were in the process of contacting his past personal connections in Paris. They knew he was in the city, they just didn’t know which part. He could count on Nino to help him keep up his alias but he was unsure about others. Nonina (she’d insisted on Adrien calling her that), who had been a housekeeper at the Agreste manor while Adrien was growing up, had been by to visit the other day. Would she know to keep his situation quiet if they called on her?

Nino was waiting for him to respond.

 

**I’ll tell you when I get home. - DeuxA**

 

Adrien closed the phone case again and stuffed the thing back into his pocket. Putting a hand to his face, he slid down the wall and sat on the frigid concrete curb behind the bakery.

 

\---

 

Marinette was halfway home from the art supply store when she noticed that she was being followed. She stopped and turned, glaring down at the creep that had probably been tailing her for the last three blocks.

“What do  _ you _ want.” she grumbled.

“Miaaaaaaw.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. She didn’t much like cats. They could be cute, sure, but they were so self-centered. And you never knew when one would turn on you. She recalled a visit to her mother’s friend, Mr. Fu, who had several pets living in and around his acupuncture clinic. She wanted to play with his cat, and thought they were getting along really well until the mangy thing took a swipe at her freshly pierced ear.

She tried pushing her unwanted companion it away with her foot, only to have the little black creature take that as an invitation to rub itself all over the bottom of her shoe, purring loudly.

“Shoo!”

“Mrrreh?” It weaved between her legs and curled its tail around her ankle as it went.

Marinette groaned as a sense of defeat set in. She stepped around it, trying to be careful not to trip, but also not to step on the damn thing. Maybe it’d get bored with her and go home if she just ignored it.

No such luck, as it happened. It continued to bounce at her heels, all the way back to the bakery.f She was about to go in through the front door when she spotted a mop of blond hair poking out around the corner of the building. It was unusual for Adrien to be taking a break at this time of day. The bakery was closing in only a few hours.

“Mraaarr!”

“Oh shush.”

The cat’s very vocal demand seemed to alert Adrien to their presence. He stood up and walked over to meet them with a smile that didn’t seem to quite reach his eyes.

“Bringing guys home now, are you?” he joked. Adrien knelt down and started scratching the cat’s chin, eliciting a deep euphoric rumble from deep in the creature’s chest. It jumped up and bumped its head against Adrien’s knee, then turned its attention right back to Marinette.

“Of course I’d attract a black cat.” she replied bitterly. “Not that my luck needs to get any worse or anything.”

Adrien was smiling warmly at the cat and watched it try to melt into Marinette’s feet. “Maybe it’ll loop around. You know, you reach the breaking point and then you get full blown super good luck.”

“Like when you get the critical HP bonus attack strength…”

“Exactly!”

“You are the biggest dork, Adrien Astruc…” she muttered. The cat was now swatting at her purse. She pulled it up further out of its reach. “Here,” she held the art supply store bag out to Adrien. He took it and looked at her questioningly. “It’s a thank-you gift, for all the help you gave me.”

He glanced at the bag. “Can I open it now?”

She felt her cheeks get a little warm as she nodded.

Adrien carefully pulled the picture frame out of the bag and peeled back the brown paper it was wrapped in. Marinette heard him gasp. Holding it, almost reverently, with both hands he stood up. “This is incredible! Is this the drawing you did from the album?”

She nodded again, her cheeks getting a little warmer. He was beaming at her now.

“It’s perfect. Are you sure I can keep this?”

“Of course, it’s just my old homework now.” she laughed.

“I would hug you if my hands weren’t full.”

“Lucky me, then. I guess your cat theory is right!”

“Prroooooooow...”

There was another part to this gift though, and Marinette had it tucked carefully in a side pocket of her purse. She opened the pocket and pulled out the little cat charm. She’d stitched a new clip to its head while she waited for the framer to finish the picture.  _ Odd,  _ she thought as she pulled it out. It felt a little damp. It could just be residual moisture from when she’d handled it in the store. She was absolutely delighted by the look on Adrien’s face when he saw what she had.

“Plagg!” He exclaimed.

She blinked in surprise. He’d named it? Did boys name stuffed animals? She was about to hand it over to him when she felt ten tiny knives embed themselves into her thigh. “AH!” She screamed and dropped the keychain. The cat had launched itself up and was scaling her leg like an overzealous mountain climber. Its big green eyes were fixed on her purse.

“Hey you!” Adrien set the picture leaning against the wall and grabbed the cat around the middle and peeled it off Marinette’s pant leg. That cat protested and tried to squirm out of Adrien’s grip, flailing its forepaws at the purse with such desperation that Marinette thought it was going to break itself in half. “Do you have something in your purse it wants?” Adrien asked between grunts.

“No!” Marinette opened her bag wide, turned it over and shook it out on the sidewalk. Her wallet bounced out, along with her house keys and lip balm. Her phone was in her jacket pocket, fortunately. She gave it one last shake for good measure, as she was certain everything had come out. But then something slipped and splatted into the concrete. The cat finally managed to wriggle its way out of Adrien’s hands and it fell on the splatted object and proceeded to devour it with reckless abandon.

“What-”

Adrien bent down and inspected the cat’s meal. He poked at it (the cat growled but didn’t stop eating) then smelled the tip of his finger. He grimaced. “Camembert cheese.” He picked up his fallen keychain and sniffed it as well. “Ugh, it’s on this guy too… Why were you carrying camembert in your purse?”

Marinette opened her mouth to exclaim that she hadn’t, but stopped. She hadn’t had her purse the entire time she was at school “Chloe.”

“I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

“She’s mostly left me alone. I guess she figured I was due for a reminder that she hates me.”

“Why is that, anyway? It’s not like you’re a threat to her social standing.”

“Hey!”

Adrien had been petting the cat but stopped to raise his hands defensively. “I’m only trying to see this from all angles. Her dad’s a politician and a hotel mogul. Yours is a baker. I’m just saying you’re completely different, both in socio-economic circumstances  _ and _ level of pleasantness. ”

“Those are some pretty big words, part-time baker.” She teased. There was something about Adrien and talking to him that brought out this latent sassiness in Marinette that she NEVER had talking to anyone else.

He smirked and resumed petting the cat, who was just licking the last remnants of camembert off its lips and looking extremely satisfied. “Over-educated part-time baker. I know a lot of big words. I can even spell some of them.”

Marinette knelt down to their level and started rubbing the top of the cat’s head as well. “We were roommates during first year.” She explained. She told Adrien about showing up Chloe on their assignments, getting praised by the teachers, and then the vandalism that started happening to her personal items. “By the end of the second term I was on the verge of having a breakdown.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Why didn’t you report her?”

With a sigh, Marinette shrugged her shoulders. “I had no proof that she’d done anything. And any time I tried talking to a counsellor they just brushed me off or told me I had to try to get along better with her. And… I guess I was being stubborn. I figured ‘if I can survive one year with Chloe, I can survive anything’.”

“Well you’re not wrong.”

They were then interrupted by the backdoor of the bakery swinging open and Marinette’s papa sticking his head out, presumably to look for Adrien. His eyebrows were furrowed as he scanned the back part of the lot until he spotted them, then his features softened almost immediately. Infact, Marinette thought he looked a little giddy.

“Ah! Perfect! Adrien, I could use your hands. Part of the stand mixer is jammed and my fingers are too big to get to the screw.” He turned and grinned at his daughter. “Hello ma petite! Did you have a good day?”

Marinette was about to respond but Adrien beat her to it.

“You never use the stand mixer.”

Tom’s face flushed and he let out a little chuckle. Marinette looked at Adrien, then back at her father. Then back to Adrien who was starting to look rather suspicious. She knew exactly what was going on. A few weeks back, she could recall, her father admitting rather proudly that he had convinced Adrien that all of the dough had to be kneaded by hand. And in doing so, he was going to help Adrien build some muscle and give him ‘proper baking shoulders’. But her father always used the stand mixer on Adrien’s days off. The scheme was up.

Adrien stood. He was waiting for Tom to answer him.

“You’re such a diligent young man. It won’t take long to fix.”

“Tom…”

“Then you can take the rest of the day off.”

 

\---

 

The phone only rang once when it was snatched up off the passenger seat. “This is Vincent Aza.” He wrenched his beater of an old car over to the curb and threw it into park.

He hated it when people called him when he was working, but he had to answer in case it was his employer, or one of his sets of eyes giving him a lead. The voice on the other end began speaking in a mechanical monotone, saying that he’d won a chance to enter some contest for a one-night stay at the Palace Du Bourgeois hotel. Glaring, he pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the end button with more force than necessary.

He’d thought for sure his last lead was going to pan out. Apparently this Nino person had been a childhood friend of Felix Agreste. Cold calling people was usually the last tactic Vincent used when he was tracking someone down. He preferred surveillance.

Gabriel Agreste’s office had supplied him with a somewhat recent picture of his target, photoshopped to have glasses, long messy hair and facial hair - all according to the description provided by Agreste’s assistant’s sources. He’d been told to pay mind to restaurants, as it was likely that Felix was looking for work in the food industry. Vincent had spent a week staking out every four and five-star restaurant he could throughout Paris. There were far too many of them.

One of the downsides of living and working in a hotbed for tourism.

He grumbled to himself as he pulled out the file he had on Felix Agreste. He flipped through the pictures and manifest of previous sightings (all cold leads. He’d been using an alias that wasn’t showing any activity for several months now). Vincent finally found the list of phone numbers. He stroked off Nino’s name and number. The next was for the old housekeeper.

Vincent pulled his phone out again and began punching in the number when he was startled by a loud  **_MEOW_ ** ! He jumped. His attention snapped to the building across the street from him.

Just a girl and a cat.

He went back to the phone.

A movement from his peripheral vision.

Slowly, Vincent looked out the driver side window again.

_ No way…  _

He scrambled to open the camera app on his phone, no time to dig for his big professional camera. He held the phone up to the window and zoomed in on the two people across the street, paying extra attention to the young man in the apron. He snapped a few pictures, zoomed out a little to include the girl. They were speaking to each other with a great deal of familiarity.

Satisfied with the pictures, and after getting a few shots of the building (T&S Patisserie, he was working at a small family owned bakery…) Vincent pulled out a microphone and recording device. He hooked them up, turned them on and pointed it in their direction.

“Exactly!” alleged Felix Agreste said.

“You are the biggest dork, Adrien Astruc…” the girl replied.

Vincent recorded another few seconds of their conversation, switched off his equipment and got out of there as quietly and quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself. 

He had a phonecall to make.


	9. Shifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alya's always has a plan.  
> Gabriel always has a scheme.
> 
> **Trigger Warning**  
> There's a description of someone being sick in the last third of this chapter. If you don't handle that sort of thing well, I have put markers at the beginning and end of that portion so you can skip over it. (Like this: (####))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8D Thank you for sticking with me, and welcome to all new readers. You are all so very precious to me and give me life.

Alya’s interview with the news director had gone exceedingly well. He’d said he liked her directness and her energy. She was engaging, well informed and interesting to listen to. It was no guarantee that she’d gotten the job, but invited her to come in at the end of next week for a screen test. They’d narrowed it down to three potential candidates. They wanted to make sure the person they ultimately hired would have good chemistry with the other anchors.

Alya was on a high, despite feeling entirely drained. She called Nino as soon as she got home and told him the news. He was elated. He’d admitted that he was really hoping that they’d work in the same building. He liked the idea of taking lunches together.

He could be so disgustingly endearing sometimes.

When she got off the phone with Nino, Alya meant to call Marinette straight away but instead fell asleep in her armchair well before 6 pm.

 

\---

 

The next round of entries were starting to trickle in. This would decide who the two finalists would be. Their instructions had been to create up to six ensembles using articles of clothing and accessories from Gabriel’s boutique. Gabriel himself skimmed through the photographs Nathalie had left for him to review. Some outfits were well chosen. Some… misguided. None of them inspired, nothing creative. Gabriel found himself bored. This whole contest was just a charade anyway. At the heart of it, it was a scheme to try to raise magazine revenues. It was starting to look like the publication might have to be discontinued. There’d been a massive overhaul to the website in the last year, and since then they were throwing out more magazines than they were selling.

There were comments on the forums as well that he’d been made aware of. People lamenting the loss of their favourite contestant. People accusing Gabriel’s of catering to those with stagnant taste. People appealing for finding out if Ladybug intended to create their own label. People asking if anyone knew who Ladybug was.

Gabriel did not like giving things up almost as much as he didn’t like being outdone.

He put the photos aside and pulled out the file he still kept from Ladybug. He didn’t have any regrets in eliminating them. They’d actually gotten the most votes, but it was risky (as far as Gabriel was concerned) to allow them to gain any more notice than they already had. His competitors were like hyenas, lurking about his business looking for their chance to snatch and lay claim. Florence had been in touch again, expressing his frustration in Gabriel’s refusal to give him access to Ladybug. Florence would like nothing more, he knew, than to harness the young designer’s talent and monetize it under his own name… because the very thought had occurred to Gabriel himself.

Gabriel studied the sketches from the file, as he had done many times before. Such vibrant, bright colours. They’d even managed to capture texture and movement in the fabric using careful shading. He looked at these designs and knew exactly how they would be assembled, and out of what materials.

Nothing could be done, however, until the contest was over.

Another matter was at hand. The report from Vincent had come in, along with photographs of his son and a young woman out on the street. His appearance had altered a great deal. He looked shabby and unkempt, but he was smiling openly and Gabriel couldn’t recall him looking that happy since the loss of Elaine. Despite the beard and glasses, there was his little boy. His Felix, though now he was going by his middle name.

When Felix first ran away, he’d been clever enough to make several purchases of airplane tickets to various countries. He was trying to hide his true destination. Eventually, after over a year of searching, they’d tracked him down to a small city in Canada, where he’d enrolled in a community college to study culinary arts. Gabriel had been angry. Very angry. But instead of dragging his son home, he decided to let him be. Felix was an adult. Gabriel no longer had any legal right to interfere with his son’s decisions.

They’d kept track of him, quietly, until a few months ago when he apparently changed himself again and came back to Paris.

Tempting as it was to go down to this bakery himself, Gabriel knew that would be a bad move. If he wanted Felix to come home, he had to let his son decide to do so for himself. However that didn’t stand to reason that Gabriel couldn’t encourage him.

He pressed the call button on the intercom.

“Yes, Mr. Agreste?” answered Nathalie right away from the other end of the line.

“Nathalie, inform Vincent that I have further need of his services.”

 

\---

 

“You’re still here?”

“Brroow.” the cat purred, weaving between Adrien’s feet.

Tom passed Adrien a sack of confectioner’s sugar from the back of the delivery truck. It was the last item to be dropped off at the patisserie for the day. Tom smirked down at Adrien’s shoes as he rotated his left arm to work a knot out of his shoulder. “Clever little fellow, that one.” he said, referring to the cat. “He started kissing right up to Sabine as soon as she saw him. She went straight out and bought a litter box and every cat toy in Paris.”

Adrien was astonished, but he did notice the green collar that was now around the cat’s neck, and the little golden bell that hung from it.

“First night he had a flea bath and ate real chicken. The vet said he’s pretty healthy, young too. Maybe a year old.” Tom’s voice dropped to a momentary whisper. “Don’t tell him we’re getting him neutered next week.

“He’s ours now. Or we’re his. He’s been sleeping in Marinette’s room.”

_ Lucky bastard _ . “She probably doesn’t appreciate that much.” Adrien said instead.

Tom laughed. “Oh not at all. She doesn’t care much for cats, but I see her slipping him little bits of food and teasing him with string when she doesn’t think we were watching.”

“Does he have a name?”

The two men began moving their new supplies into the kitchen once the invoice was signed and the delivery truck pulled away.

“Well,” Tom grunted as he lifted up two massive bags of flour (which reminded Adrien of just how much smaller he was), “we’ve narrowed it down to three choices. I want to call him Camembert, since that’s what he smelled like when he ran into the apartment before Marinette could shut the door on him, but Sabine says that’s too long of a name. She wants to name him Treize, because she’s my funny girl.”

Treize was an apt name for a black cat. Almost as groan-worthy as naming him ‘Lucky’. Adrien could appreciate the joke.

“Marinette suggested calling him Felix.”

Adrien nearly dropped the crate of apples he was carrying, on his foot.

“I think it’s that billboard across the street that gave her the idea. That perfume one? Mari was quite taken with the model when she was in highschool. Had his pictures up all over her bedroom walls, I seem to remember.”

Adrien found himself grinning, despite still feeling the shock of hearing his given name spoken by Tom, and the sense of feeling a little jealous… of himself. “Really!” he said with exaggerated interest.

Tom just shook his head and chuckled. “I think she was fourteen when it started. All we heard about was ‘Felix’ this and ‘Felix’ that. She even once asked me to make a special cake on his birthday.”

Teenaged girls could be terrifying.

“Best not to bring it up though. She’d be mortified if you mentioned it.”

Adrien thought it an odd thing to say. “She doesn’t want to be reminded?” He suggested.

“Perhaps, but I think she’d more worried about you knowing. She might believe you’d think… less of her.”

_ OH? _

“Tom, are you suggesting…”

Tom just winked and said nothing else on the matter for the rest of the morning.

 

\---

 

The week passed quickly. Alya busied herself with work to the point where she came home feeling like she’d run a marathon every day. Normally she had the stamina to get through a day of meetings and writing and still want to go out in the evenings with Nino (now that neither of them were sick or food poisoned). She chalked it up to stress. Knowing that her days at the ad agency were soon coming to an end, knowing that her dream job was well within her reach, she’d already typed up her letter of resignation and printed it off. She just needed to fill in the date and sign the bottom.

Working had become so much harder, it seemed. It was as if her body was responding to the anticipation of leaving by making sure she was as uncomfortable as possible. Her lovely, ergonomic office chair felt like a wooden plank. Their entire floor of the building had developed a weird smell (so bad sometimes it put off Alya’s appetite).

Today was the day of her screen test, so Nino had wanted to make her dinner the night before. He’d been working so hard to learn to cook and as a result had actually put together a three course dinner that included many of her favourites. Creamy chicken and alfredo sauce, white wine, salad, garlic bread (admittedly his roommate, who Alya was very amused to learn was the guy working at Mari’s family bakery, made the bread) and a fruit parfait for dessert. It certainly hadn’t  _ looked _ like gourmet but Alya was delighted all the same. She just wished that she’d been able to eat more of it. Her nerves were so shot about the screen test that she couldn’t handle more than a few bites of everything. Poor Nino. He’d cooked for hours for her. He was very understanding though and in his optimistic way of looking at things he was thrilled to have so many leftovers because he didn’t think he’d be able to cook again for a week.

Her screen test was to take place first thing in the morning. Since Nino’s apartment was closer, she slept over and drove herself and Nino to the station. 

The plan was getting set in motion now. Alya knew exactly how it would go. She’d do the screen test, laugh and joke with her future co-anchors, the execs would completely forget about the other candidates who’d been tested before her. They’d offer her the job right there on the spot and she’d be out in time to drop her resignation letter off at the agency before the start of her regular work day. Two weeks to tie up loose ends, pass off her contracts and say ‘farewell’ to her favourite co-workers, the uncomfortable office chair and the tiny window in the office she’d claimed as her own.

She was going to bring her cactus with her, though it’d been at the office longer than she had.

There was a crew waiting for her in the studio when she arrived, in good time of course. She’d expected to part ways with Nino, but he winked at her and followed her in, taking a place behind the switchboard with another technician.

The news director was talking with a small, smartly dressed woman while they sipped hot drinks from paper cups. Alya could smell coffee and peppermint as she approached them and felt her stomach knot up a little.

_ Confidence and humility, Alya. Let them know you expect to be hired, but also that you’re grateful for the opportunity. _

The director and the woman, who Alya immediately recognized as the weekday evening news anchor, Nadja Chamack, turned to greet her. They shook hands, exchanged ‘good morning’s and then Nadja exclaimed that she finally remembered where she’d heard Alya’s name before. Apparently, when she was told who was screen testing, she thought the name sounded familiar. Confused, Alya was certain they’d never met before, or had any occasion to cross paths.

“You’re friends with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, right?” Nadja asked her, smiling broadly.

_ Seriously? _ “Yes, we’ve been best friends since middle school. Do you know Marinette?” How, Alya couldn’t possibly imagine.

Nadja laughed a small dignified laugh. “Yes, Marinette used to babysit my daughter, Manon.”

Alya wasn’t sure if this was going to be a good thing or a bad thing. She certainly remembered little Manon, with her big teeth and pigtails and enthusiasm for unicorns and piggyback rides. She laughed herself, though mostly from nerves. “Oh! Yes, I remember Manon. I don’t suppose she still thinks I’m the Unicorn Princess of Rispa.”

“It was all she could talk about for a week. But no, she’s an adult of thirteen now.” A resigned sigh. “I wish it was still unicorns and princesses… Instead it’s modelling and that new pop singer, XY-”

The news director coughed and interjected before Nadja could say anything about how she felt about XY. “A perfectly charming young man, to be sure. Now, we’re waiting on Etienne. But, as everyone here can tell you, Mademoiselle Cesaire, he is always fashionably late.”

If Alya wasn’t mistaken, she saw some darkness flash in Nadja’s eyes for a second at the mention of the other anchor. She recovered herself quickly, however and put on her professional smile. “I don’t see why we can’t set up without him,” she suggested. “Why not get Alya to the make-up chair. I’m already painted up, so lighting can get started on the desk.”

She gave Alya’s shoulder a reassuring pat as she passed by to take her seat at the news desk.

Alya was astonished at how fast the hair and makeup crew worked to prepare her for the bright lights in the studio. They argued for only a few minutes on whether they should put her hair up or not.

“Look at these curls, Toni! You do NOT cage curls like this!”

“Volume! Think of the volume! Yvette you don’t have any vision! You are like a potato! Eyes that do not see!”

They finally decided on a loosely swept updo and let a few of Alya’s curls to frame her face. There was some discussion on whether they should part to one side or the other to conceal or accentuate the mole on Alya’s forehead. Alya had always been rather fond of that mole and asked to not have it covered up.

“It’s a point of interest.” she said. Toni and Yvette readily agreed and left it visible, even after applying all of the cake makeup required to look passingly human on camera. They’d asked if she wanted to change her glasses for contact lenses, but the news director, who had been close at hand, said that for the sake of contrast  Alya could keep her glasses on because Nadja never wore them, for which Alya was relieved because she hated putting contacts in.

Alya could see that Nino was watching her with amusement as she made her way to the desk. She winked at him in kind.

Lighting had to run their tests on her after she sat down in the co-anchor’s chair. She sat perfectly still and tried not to think of how hot it felt under the lights. She’d worn a blazer today. Perhaps she’d been better off with a light blouse. No, a blouse would show the sweat. She’d have to put up with the heat and get on with it. She had a sip of water when the lighting guys finally backed off and were replaced by the teleprompter.

“Nervous?” Nadja whispered to her so that the crew and director wouldn’t hear.

“Oh of course not,” Alya said through her teeth, smiling as naturally as she could while someone started shouting in the background for confirmation that all the crews were ready.

The lead camera operator nodded as she appeared to listen to her headset. “Okay, booth’s ready. Eyes on the teleprompter ladies! And in five… four… three…” her countdown went from verbal to a show of fingers as she finished: two… One-

Just then the studio door squeaked open. Everyone snapped around, the atmosphere thick with indignance at whoever dared disrupt their hard-earned preparation, to see Etienne swagger in like he was the lead event.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone!” He winked at the lead camera operator. “Hope you didn’t have to wait long. Ooh! You’ve already got the setup ready! Perfect! I’ll just pop over to Yvette and get dolled up. Morning Nadja!”

Nadja did a little wave but muttered something less polite under her breath. Alya had been mentally preparing herself but now with the interruption and needing to wait now, for however long she didn’t know, she was holding onto a giant ball of pent up energy that was going from just nerves to anxiety. She fought it. She fought it hard.

She chanced a look at Nino. He signed something to her. She couldn’t make out what he was trying to say. Then he struck a pose worthy of a low-budget kung-fu movie that made her giggle despite her conviction to stay serious and professional.

After five minutes of waiting, and Nadja curling and uncurling the blank sheets of paper in front of her, Etienne finally got up on set and slid into the chair on Alya’s other side. He leaned over, grinning, and extended a hand to her. “Etienne Lamonte, and you are?”

Alya took his hand, but then his breath hit her in full force. Soured cream cheese, stale bread, coffee and onion. Everything seemed to happen at once. **(####)** She tried to answer him, but a wave came over her, lifting her stomach, pushing up from her core. There was an audible gasp in the studio as she felt herself heaving forward.

She was sick. Her eyes clenched shut as she felt the hot acid boil up from her stomach and fill her mouth and a second later people were shouting around her.

Alya finally looked up when she could and found Etienne sitting on the floor looking like he had just been stabbed, though instead of blood he was covered in vomit. Nadja’s voice cut through the cacophony as she was kneeling beside her and pushing her hair back out of her face. “Alya, are you okay?” **(####)**

Shakily she glanced aside and saw Nino standing away from the crowd that was gathering around and staring at her looking afraid and worried. She squeezed her eyes shut again, feeling tears coming on.

Nadja’s hands moved to grip Alya’s elbows and the older woman helped her to stand and lead her away from the set to the nearest dressing room.

Alya was seated on a vanity chair beside a sink and a cold wet cloth was pressed to her forehead. She took the cloth from Nadja and used it to wipe her mouth. Next Nadja set a glass of water on the counter nearby.

She was miserable. The shock was starting to dissipate and be replaced with horror. “Oh my god…” Alya groaned. She pushed her glasses up and pressed the heel of her hand against her eye. Hot tears were starting to trickle down her artificially rosy cheeks.

Nadja pulled a chair up next to her’s and started rubbing her back. “It’s okay, Alya. I had a nosebleed during my first interview. These things happen.”

It didn’t help. She’d just thrown up on a nationally recognized, award winning news reporter. It was over for her. Nadja didn’t tell her to stop crying, she just sat by and offered little encouragements, even mentioning that Alya had done what she herself had wanted to do for the last six years.

A knock came on the door and it opened a crack. Nino poked his head in. He looked completely stricken as he tentatively made his way into the dressing room. Alya was glad he was there, but she couldn’t bear to look at him right now.

“Hey Nino, do you need something?” Nadja asked, likely feeling protective of Alya at the moment and wanting to make sure she wasn’t needlessly disturbed.

“I-” Nino stammered. “Alya, I’m so sorry. I thought everything was okay and I double-checked the chicken and… I gave you food poisoning, didn’t I…”

Alya didn’t answer him. She just shook her head.

“Food poison… Are you two dating?”

She heard the apparent surprise in Nadja’s tone. Alya felt her hand pull away from her back and gently come to rest on Alya’s forearm. Nino sheepishly confirmed their relationship and quickly and clumsily admitted that it was probably his complete incompetence with cooking that was at fault for Alya’s condition. Nadja appeared to listen carefully, but then replied. “Didn’t you eat it too? You seem to be fine.”

She placed a finger under Alya’s chin and carefully drew her face up to meet her’s. “Alya, do you want to see a doctor? There’s a nurse’s office in the station, but I can take you to the clinic.”

Alya shook her head and fought back another sudden wave of nausea. She didn’t want to go 2 for 2 in losing her stomach on tv personalities. “I can’t.” she said very carefully. “I need to go to work in a few minutes. I’ve used up all my sick days.” She swallowed against yet another wave. Nadja handed her the glass of water, as well as a packet of soda crackers that she’d apparently been keeping her jacket pocket.

“Don’t be ridiculous. No work for 24 hours after you’ve thrown up. Nino, could you call in for her?”

Alya began to protest but Nadja insisted. A few minutes later, Nino had begged her off work to her manager, citing a recent outbreak of stomach virus and promising that she’d be back on Monday. Nadja helped Alya clean herself up, found her some comfortable clothes and drove her back to Alya’s apartment. Nino would bring her car around once he was done work. Nadja asked if Alya needed someone to stay with her, but Alya politely declined. “I think I’ll just go and try to sleep it off…”

She wondered, as they pulled into the parking lot, how much the dry-cleaning bill on Monsieur Lamonte’s suit was going to be.


	10. Premonitions vs. Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had quite a few people tell me in the comments that they can't really picture Adrien with a beard. I've done a quick drawing, of what I envision anyway. I posted it on my tumblr if anyone's interested in peeking at it. I'm not a great artist though, just fyi. I can do busts and that's pretty much it. Anatomy and everything else is just not in my skill set. (that being said, if anyone wants to make fan art for this fic I'd probably get really super spastic excited *cough cough hint hint cough*)
> 
> http://jellymccrank.tumblr.com/post/143165312508/a-lot-of-comments-on-my-ml-fic-are-about-how-hard

 

Tuesday during lunch, Marinette got a very unexpected text message from Alya. She’d been reading over her notes for a history midterm but set them aside in favour of her phone.

 

**Can you meet me in the student parking lot behind the admin building - A**

 

Confused, Marinette needed a moment to think before she wrote a reply. Alya was at work. At least she was supposed to be. She’d been sick over the weekend again. Marinette felt awful for her. This last month had been terrible. And then there was the whole situation with the screen test that Alya had told her a few days ago. Apparently someone from the station, not her boyfriend, had called to check on Alya and see if she was doing alright. That alone gave Marinette hope that Alya would be able to do the test over again when she was feeling better. However, when she mentioned that to her best friend, Alya assured her that the anchor she’d thrown up on was adamant that he never wanted to see her in the studio again. 

She replied to the text.

 

**I’m done classes at 2 today - M**

 

Alya’s response was short and quick.

 

**I’m here now. Please. - A**

 

Now Marinette was worried. When Alya wanted her to go somewhere she didn’t ask. She told. Something was wrong. She packed up her books, her half-eaten sandwich and punched in a fast “ **on my way** ” before she took off toward the admin building at a jog.

She found Alya’s little car parked in the back corner of the lot, beside an overgrown hedge that was precariously close to scratching the car’s paint with its thorny branches. When she approached the car she could see Alya resting her head on her steering wheel through the tinted windows. Marinette lightly tapped her knuckles against the glass before she climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hey!” she said, hoping that her building anxiety wasn’t showing. Alya only tilted her head a little and Marinette heard her sniff. Her best friend was dressed for work, dress pants, smart blazer, hair carefully curled, though there was a smear of foundation on the sleeve of Alya’s jacket where her forehead was resting.

Alya looked like she’d been crying, or on the verge of crying. Her eyes, what Marinette could see of them, were red. It was hard to tell what she was looking at, but Alya’s glasses were off and her gaze was fixed somewhere on the dash.

“Hey…?” Marinette said again, this time cautiously. “Alya? What’s going on?”

Finally Alya started to sit up. She rubbed her eye a little aggressively and let out a low groan as she leaned back into her seat. “Sorry. I just… I needed to… Fuck I can’t talk.” She dragged a hand down her face. “Sorry.”

This was serious. Marinette decided to wait until Alya was ready to talk. Instead she took the hand Alya was resting in her lap and gave it a firm squeeze to let her know that she was there for her entirely, no matter what she needed.

There was a long silence that was finally broken by Alya sighing and, staring at the ceiling above her, saying “I got sick on my way to the office this morning. Like, really sick. I had to pull over and I threw up in a trash can in an alley. I think I scared a vagrant. Worst part of it was I hadn’t eaten anything yet.”

Marinette nodded in understanding, though she doubted Alya could perceive her at the moment. She just continued to hold her hand.

“So I got back in my car and I called my manager. And he was pissed. Really pissed. There’s a meeting today with a major contract. He told me if I didn’t get a doctor’s note, he was going to fire me on account of me skipping out on work.”

Marinette felt a sudden hot surge of anger. “He can’t do that!”

Alya shook her head a little. “Anyway… I’m not getting that job at the station now, so I kind of need to hold on to this one, you know? I’ve been living on my own since I was 19. I love my family but I love having my own space. So I went straight to the clinic. There wasn’t a huge line-up or anything, but I still waited two hours to be seen by a nurse. I filled out this form before I went in, and the nurse read it over a few times, asked me a few questions about my menstrual cycle and my birth control usage...”

Marinette had a feeling she knew where this was going. “Alya…”

Her friend finally looked directly at her and there was a smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m pregnant.” She laughed weakly. “I’m fucking pregnant.”

“I thought you were on the pill,” Marinette said, shocked, without thinking. “You’ve been on it since highschool, because of your cramps...” This just made Alya laugh again.

“Did you know that antibiotics can lower the effectiveness of birth control pills?”

The ear infection.

“Holy shit…”

“It is so weird to hear you swear, you know that?”

Marinette couldn’t speak. Words were just not coming, thoughts slipped away before they could form. She could only gape

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.” Alya sighed. “I’m probably five weeks in, according to the nurse. You’re not supposed to tell anyone until nine weeks, apparently. I think that’s what I heard anyway. Far as I’m concerned I’ve only been pregnant for an hour.”

Marinette was holding Alya’s hand with both of her’s now, feeling herself wanting to wrap the biggest, fuzziest blanket around Alya’s shoulders. She didn’t know what she could say. Nothing seemed right. She couldn’t gauge how Alya was feeling about this and she was afraid to ask. Seeming to read Marinette despite her silence though, Alya squeezed her hand back and gave it a little shake, but she didn’t pull away.

“Anyway,” she continued, “the nurse wanted to know about my relationship status, any history of abuse. Guess they have to deal with that kind of thing a lot… How long have I been seeing my current partner, any risk of infections. Then she asked if I wanted to talk about my options.”

That was what Marinette was wondering herself, a little relieved that Alya brought it up.

“I took some pamphlets, but I told her I needed to think.”

“Alya, whatever you decide I’m going to support you, you know that right?” Marinette was in earnest. She threw her arms around Alya then and hugged her as tightly as she could manage.

Finally whatever was holding Alya back from tears seemed to break and she cried into Marinette’s sweater. She felt her best friend’s tears against her neck and soaking into her shoulder. They sat that way for several minutes until Alya’s sobs eased into sniffles and finally deep breathing. They pulled away from each other.

“This is all so messed up, Mari! I’ve only been dating Nino for a month. YOU haven’t even met him yet! He’s a nice guy and everything. I really like him.” her eyes began to well up again. She grabbed a wet wipe from the glove box and busied herself with cleaning the streaks of mascara from her cheeks. “It’s just…”

“Have you told him yet?”

“No… No I haven’t really talked to him since the screen test. I just need to think.”

Another silence.

“You should tell him.” Marinette finally said. Alya shot a glare at her. “No, really!” If Alya didn’t talk to Nino about this, no matter what she decided to do, it was going to completely change their relationship. She’d never met Nino but she was inclined to think well of him from what she heard from Alya. Alya wouldn’t be dating him if there was anything questionable about his character. She was  _ very _ careful with whom she spent her time and attention.

Alya was clearly thinking the same thing as she lowered her eyes again and sighed. “Yeah… I’ll tell him. When I’m ready.”

“When you’re ready.” Marinette agreed.

Tomorrow was the last day before the fall break and she still had more studying to do, but Marinette ditched her last class of the day and went home with Alya.

 

\---

 

Nino hadn’t spoken to Alya since dropping off her car after she was sick at the screen test. He’d tried calling, left messages, sent texts. She hadn’t responded once. He felt awful. He didn’t want her to avoid him. He’d felt so useless in that moment, seeing her get sick all over that pompous news anchor and completely destroy her chance of landing her dream job.

She was probably horrified and associated Nino with the incident now.

It was all he could do to stop himself from going to her office just to make sure she was okay. But that could only serve to make her angry. He had to be patient.

He was miserable.

 

\---

 

Alya went to work. She came home. She spent her evenings reading and ignoring the phone. She said nothing to her co-workers, made no attempt to contact Nino. She didn’t even tell her mother.

The morning sickness (which she learned was not, infact, limited to mornings) was becoming manageable. She tried to keep snacks on her at all times as eating a little helped keep the nausea at bay. She slept a lot. Her dreams were becoming more vivid and surreal. She woke with aches in her back and legs.

All of this because of something smaller than a lima bean…

Despite all of this, and everything she’d learned from her research of what was to come, Alya had decided to keep the pregnancy. She was considering finding potential adoptive parents. She’d made a pro and con list to weigh her options. The con side of keeping the baby was much longer than the pro side but when she was out shopping the other night she caught herself pricing diapers and reading the ingredients on jars of baby food. And then she bought a package of tiny socks and cried for fifteen minutes in the market parking lot.

This wasn’t an ideal situation, to be sure. She was only 21 years old, just beginning her life as a productive member of society. She had career goals, travel plans, new clothes that fit her perfectly…

This would be the end of her relationship with Nino. Alya was preparing herself for that.

She booked an appointment at the clinic to talk about getting everything she needed to arrange set up, decide on a hospital for her prenatal care, work out how and when she was going to tell her employer. That’s what Alya did best; she made plans. At least with all of these things to do she was able to ignore most of the nagging anxiety that was stirring in her stomach and threatened to make her more nauseated than the pregnancy hormones did. But now it was time to do what she’d promised herself and Marinette that she’d do.

It was late Sunday morning when Alya, determined and focussed, knocked on Nino’s apartment door. She waited only a few seconds before she heard the chain lock unhooked and the door opened to a tall blond haired man in a t-shirt and sweatpants - Adrien, Nino’s room mate. He seemed startled to see her. “Uh, hi?” He said, friendly but unsure.

“Hi,” she tried to smile back as naturally as she could. “I’m Alya-”

“Oh!” Suddenly he was grinning. “Yeah! Nino’s told me about you! It’s nice to meet you, I’m Adrien!” He stuck his hand out to shake her’s.

She shook his hand, but knew that this was going to get extremely awkward in a very short period of time. Adrien invited her inside and offered a wide variety of hot drinks and apologized for the mess of sound equipment and unsorted laundry that was piled up in the corner of the couch.

Her stomach lurched as a premonition of a baby eating an auxiliary cable flashed through her mind. “Uh, no thanks on the coffee… Is Nino home?”

Adrien paused a moment from gathering up t-shirts and socks. “Yeah, I think he’s still asleep though. He did his club job last night.”

“Yeah… right.” Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. She could go home and start a new pro/con list on telling him via text message.

That was a terrible idea.

Adrien disappeared into another room and came back a moment later without his pile of clothing. He invited Alya to sit down. She wondered at his easy manners. He didn’t seem bothered at all about having a stranger sitting in his livingroom. She could sense no awkwardness from him. He asked her polite questions and offered tea or coffee a second time. This time she accepted a cup of herbal tea and a cranberry muffin, just so he wouldn’t ask again.

“So you write ads?” He said while he sat down on the arm of a suede chair that looked like it had been picked up off the curb.

Alya nodded and accepted a hot mug of apple and cinnamon tea. “It’s not as glamorous as I’d like, but I’m ridiculously good at it.”

Adrien gave a small laugh and replied, “Nino said you were good at getting your point across. He really likes that about you.”

She felt her face start to heat up. As she began to struggle to find something to say, a phone on the coffee table began to ring and vibrate. Adrien snatched it up and excused himself to Alya before answering it.

He wandered into the kitchen and seemed to be working something out with whoever was on the other end.

It was while Adrien chatted cheerfully on the phone that Nino finally emerged from another room on the opposite side of the apartment. Alya watched him, but he hadn’t noticed her yet. He held his glasses at his side and rubbed at his eyes with his other hand. “Geeze, Adrien, what time is it-”

He finally saw Alya.

Adrien finished his call and announced that Nino had a visitor.

Nino just stared at her.

Alya set her mug down on the coffee table.

“Ah…” Adrien cleared his throat. “I’m going to go… and give you guys some privacy…”

Nino swallowed and smiled. Alya squeezed her hands in her lap.

Distantly she heard Adrien head back to his room, presumably to get ready to leave the apartment.

“Hey.” Nino sat down beside her. Alya drew back slightly before she could stop herself and saw panic flash in Nino’s eyes. He had been about to touch her knee but pulled his hand away and rested it across his own lap instead. “How… how’ve you been doing?”

Alya couldn’t answer him immediately as the urge to cry overwhelmed her in an instant, but she fought it back and fought hard. She hoped it didn’t show on her face.

Nino flexed his fingers and stared silently at his hands. After an agonizing silence that seemed would never break, he said, “I tried calling…” a swallow. “I think I know what you’re-”

“I’m pregnant.”

There. She said it. It shot out of her mouth like a bullet. Alya chanced a look at Nino then. He was staring through the coffee table, mouth open, possibly not breathing.

That was the hard part done and Alya was determined now to tell him exactly everything she had on her mind, now that it was out in the open. “I know it’s a shock, and it’s not what either of us intended to happen. But I’ve decided to keep it.” She paused to breathe and to give Nino a chance to respond. 

He remained silent.

“I’m not going to ask you for anything, okay? I’ve got a pretty good plan and I’ve got a lot of family I can turn to for support if I need it. If you want to be involved I’m okay with that, but if not-”

He finally seemed to find his voice and cut her off. “You’re not breaking up with me?”

Not what she was expecting him to say, Alya was completely dumbfounded. “Nino, didn’t you-” An instant later she was being pulled into Nino’s chest and hugged tightly.

“I heard you,” he breathed into her hair. “My brain’s shut down at the moment. I’ll start freaking out in a bit.”

Alya felt an enormous lump form in her throat.

“Ah… Um…”

Alya shifted her head and saw Nino’s roommate standing awkwardly by the apartment door with his coat and shoes on and looking very uncomfortable. She’d forgotten about him completely.

He gave them an unsure smile. “Congratulations?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little tough to write. There were so many directions this could have gone, but I wound up using my personal experience. I had an unplanned pregnancy when I was 23. I was lucky enough to be in a healthy, long-term relationship (we're married now, almost 5 years) and to have lots of family support. If my circumstances were different, I might have made a different decision.
> 
> Nino reminds me a lot of my husband, actually (lol).
> 
> Make sure that if you're using one or more birth control methods that you've done extensive research on their effectiveness and possible side-effects or defects when they're interacting with medications. (Okay, that's enough soapboxing from me. This wasn't supposed to be a sex-ed lesson)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	11. A Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has broken 3000 hits! I can't believe it. So, to celebrate (and to take a turn from last chapter's bit of drama) here's some adrinette fluff for you lovely people.
> 
> Also, a nod and a wink to Mushroomy, who reminded me of the sweet cinnamon roll Adrien is.
> 
> And to Eiua who inspired part of this chapter.

**I told Nino - A**

**How did he take it? - M**

**Took a while to sink in  
** **I showed him some of the pamphlets  
** **He fainted after getting to a diagram of a placenta  
** **But he was okay when he woke up - A**

**So… - M**

**So…? - A**

**Does this mean I can get excited now? - M**

**Yes, you’re allowed to get excited. - A**

**YAY BABY!  
** **I’m going to make so many cute outfits  
** **Forget high fashion  
** **Your baby is going to be the best dressed person in Paris  
** **No! In the world! - M**

**I love you - A**

**I’m going to the fabric store. - M**

**Okay, tone it down a little lol - A**

**Fight me. Jacket’s on. - M**

**Dork - A**

**Auntie Dork* - M**

 

\---

The afternoon lull meant that Adrien had nothing to do for at least a half hour. He took stock of the dirty dishes (not enough to run the dishwasher), counted the pans of bread dough sitting out to proof and idly scratched Plagg between the ears.

That was the name they’d settled on for the bakery’s new employee (at Adrien’s suggestion and after Tom laughed for ten straight minutes over ‘Black Plague’, which went right over Marinette and Sabine’s heads). He had a name tag and everything. The cat had settled in very nicely, choosing the cushion-topped stool by the kitchen door as his station. When he wasn’t trying to trip Tom or schmooze treats out of Sabine, he napped on the stool and glared at anything that interrupted his beauty sleep.

When Adrien tried to pull his hand away Plagg dug his little claws into Adrien’s wrist and indicated that he wasn’t finished with his scalp massage.

“Claws out.”

“Mrrrrrrr.”

“Sorry, bud. Gotta work.”

“Mrow…” Instead of taking the dismissal, Plagg got up, stretched and climbed onto Adrien’s shoulder. This was a fairly new thing he liked to do, ride around on Adrien’s shoulders like a parrot or living scarf. Adrien didn’t mind so much. If he was careful not to move too quickly he wouldn’t get stabbed.

With nothing else to do, Adrien gathered up a note pad and pen and went out to the store front to note down what items were running low and needed to be restocked. This had the added bonus of course of being in the same room as Marinette. She was on her fall break from school, so Tom and Sabine planned a little holiday for themselves and had her take over for her mother.

She didn’t look up from her note book when Adrien came into the shop. She was dressed casually, a Jagged Stone concert tour t-shirt that was a size too big, a big pink cable-knit hoodie with the zipper undone, dark grey leggings. Her silky black hair was tied in two loosely braided pigtails that draped over her shoulders as she leaned over the counter. The light from the window was coming in at such an angle that it gave her a glow. She looked tiny but took up his entire field of vision.  Adrien didn’t care how sappy the thought was, but she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

When he looked at her he could ignore everything else that weighed on him. It didn’t matter that his father knew he was back in Paris. The thought of being found didn’t bother him. None of that mattered at all. He was here, she was here. That was what mattered.

“MROOOW!”

And just like that the spell was broken. Marinette looked up and Adrien had to quickly make himself look busy lest she realize that he’d been staring at her. She smiled at him. “There’s my favourite health code violation!”

Was she talking to him? “I washed my hands,” he protested. She smirked.

Reaching over the counter she scratched Plagg’s chin, eliciting a rumbling purr from his under-sized body.

She moved her hand and _Oh god_ scratched the bottom Adrien’s chin as well. “Actually, you should probably be wearing a hairnet over this thing,” she teased. “You’re starting to look like a lumberjack.”

His face was tingling when her fingers left his beard.

The off-handed comment Tom had made the other day, about Marinette being self-conscious of what Adrien thought of her, had been running circles around Adrien’s mind since it was said. From then he’d been paying more attention to _how_ Marinette behaved around him, talked to him, to see if he could detect any sign that his attraction to her was reciprocated. There were moments when, just maybe, she might have flirted. But if that were the case, it was extremely subtle and completely different from the overt attempts at flirting that he’d gotten used to as a teenager. By that comparison Marinette’s actions could be interpreted as playfulness. Like scratching his beard just now…

Actually, she treated him much in the same way she treated Plagg.

Except Plagg got to sleep in her room. Adrien hadn’t even asked her out.

Marinette picked up her note book and flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted. She held it up for for his appraisal. “What do you think of this one?” She asked, beaming.

Distraction was good.

The page had a drawing of a toddler wearing a romper with puffed sleeves and ladybug patch pockets. There were squares of fabric, samples, stapled to the corner of the page.

Marinette peeked at him from behind the book. “It’s for Alya and Nino’s baby.”

“Cute.” He wasn’t really talking about the drawing.

She didn’t seem entirely satisfied with his response as she set the book down again and chewed her bottom lip. “Hmm… Maybe the lace is too much…”

“No no no,” he said quickly and pulling his gaze away from her lips. “Your design’s perfect. Don’t take my opinion on it. I don’t know the first thing about fashion.” He turned and started going through the displays, busying himself with marking down what needed refilling.

Marinette laughed lightly. “T-shirts and blue jeans can be very versatile. Don’t sell yourself too short.” She paused and sighed. “I still can’t believe she’s having a baby. I didn’t think Alya would be having kids until she was 30.”

It was something that had shocked Adrien as well, though he had yet to mention it to anyone. He was a bit worried about Nino. His best friend, however, was handling it far better than he ever could have anticipated. A few parenting books had shown up and taken up residence on their coffee table.

“I think Nino’s going to be a great dad.” He said honestly. Marinette looked at him with her eyes full of eager curiosity. She had yet to meet Nino and seemed to be wanting to learn more about him. Adrien could tell her everything about his best friend, reasons why he knew Nino would be a good parent, but those weren’t things that Adrien was at liberty to discuss. Instead Adrien just said, “he’s pretty laid back, but he’s loyal. He’ll drop everything to help someone out, even if it’s really inconvenient for him.”

She smiled and seemed gratified by that answer. “Alya’s like that too. Not the laid back part though.”

“So they’ll either balance each other, or drive each other crazy.”

“Yup! I have a good feeling about them.”

“Hmm… I can’t help but feel partially responsible for their situation though.”

Adrien cocked his head and was utterly thrilled with the bemused expression Marinette was giving him. “How?” She demanded. One of her eyebrows raised and completely vanished behind her bangs.

“Well…” Adrien slowly stood from where he had been crouching to count rolls (Plagg didn’t appreciate the change of position and leapt off his perch to console himself near the warm ovens). “I was giving Nino cooking lessons when they first started dating.”

He didn’t think it was possible for Marinette to look more incredulous than she already did. He was proven wrong. “I’m pretty sure that’s got nothing to do with it-” she said.

Adrien lowered his voice into a loud and completely audible whisper. “He put a _bun_ in her _oven_.”

Marinette banished him back to the kitchen and ordered him not to speak to her again for the rest of the day.

 

\---

 

Adrien loaded a small cart with fresh batches of rolls, buns and baguettes (he’d tried presenting Marinette with a bouquet of baguettes a little while earlier, as a means to apologize for his amazing sense of humour, and was immediately told he’d get a scrap of cotton flannelette stapled to his face). Marinette had been serving customers fairly steadily for the last few hours, but it had quieted down again, meaning  Adrien could restock the displays without getting in the way. There was one customer though, but he was standing at the counter - rather, he was leaning on the counter like he belonged there. Adrien noted the streak of purple in his otherwise bleached blond hair, and the enormous camera that hung about his neck. The man nodded and smirked to Adrien, then immediately turned his attention back to Marinette.

Adrien got to work and tried to appear completely oblivious to the conversation going on behind him.

“So like I was saying, I’ve been snooping around different small businesses for a while. The magazine I work for is doing a feature on ‘em, see? I’d love to get some pictures of the patisserie.”

Marinette was very polite to him. More polite than Adrien felt she needed to be, given the condescending tone in the man’s voice.

“You’d have to ask the owner.” she said.

Not to be deterred, the man went right on talking, probably feeling like he’d gotten Marinette’s full attention. “How about you, then? Done any modelling? You should, y’know. I can point you to some agencies.”

Adrien had to stop himself from crushing a kaiser bun with his metal tongs.

Marinette made a little laugh that sounded forced to Adrien. “Oh no, ha ha ha.”

He was just taking a basket of cinnamon rolls out of the case when he happened to see the guy sliding his hand over the countertop toward Marinette’s arm. He tucked the basket into his elbow. Within the time it took to draw a breath Adrien was at Marinette’s side. Setting the basket down, he draped his arm around her shoulders and put on his very most charming smile. “Oh don’t be modest.” he said loudly, staring the photographer straight in the eye as he spoke. Purple streak flinched just a little. He glanced down at the guy’s hand and saw the corner of a business card poking out from beneath it. Adrien snatched up the business card with the tongs he still had clutched in his fist. The other man took a full step back, probably concerned that Adrien might try taking a finger next. The thought was tempting.

Marinette glared up at Adrien and pushed his hand off her shoulder. He complied without resistance. “I think this customer was just finishing up.” she said through her teeth before offering the photographer a polite, apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” he chuckled, but eyed Adrien warily. “I’ll take a cinnamon roll.”

Adrien didn’t break eye contact with the other man while he wrapped up one of the cinnamon rolls from the basket and handed the bag to him. “Here, on the house.”

The man ‘hmphed’ but nodded in thanks before he stepped outside into the chill November air.

Once he was out of sight Marinette rounded on Adrien. “What was that all about?!”

“They’re stale. I’d just have to throw them out anyway.”

“Not the rolls! This-” she gestured at his tongs.

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t come in to eye up the croissants, Marinette.”

“Thanks,” she didn’t sound in the least bit grateful, “but I could have handled it myself.”

Adrien opened his mouth to argue. There was a clack on the counter and he saw that Marinette had set down a fine-tipped fountain pen that had completely escaped his notice.

“I’ll finish the cart,” she said as she stepped around him. “You can start closing up the kitchen.”

Suddenly Adrien felt like he had the first day he met Marinette. She was angry at him. He wordlessly obeyed her dismissal and went back to clean the kitchen.

Neither of them spoke to each other for the rest of the day. Not even a ‘see you later’ from Marinette as she locked the door behind him after closing.

 

\---

 

The next day passed with the same heavy atmosphere hanging between them. Adrien was efficient. Marinette was terse. They only spoke when it was absolutely necessary.

Marinette was relieved in the knowledge that her parents would be back tomorrow.

But by the time they were closing up and Marinette was sorting through her keys to find the one for the apartment, she felt her anger deflating like a day-old balloon. She had been annoyed by the photographer of course, but the way Adrien had swooped in and behaved like an overprotective caveman had pushed her over the edge. She had been made to feel like a child, incapable of defending herself. It really bothered her that Adrien thought it was necessary, that she needed his help. He didn’t think she was able to look after herself against one creep.

“Look… I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Marinette looked up, surprised, at Adrien. He was standing a respectful distance away, his hands stuck in his coat pockets and his shoulders hunched up to his ears.

“I didn’t like the way he was talking to you,” he continued when he saw she wasn’t going to ignore him, “and what I did wasn’t any better.”

It was the look on his face that did it. The anger was gone. She offered him a smile which he returned cautiously. “I’ll forgive you. But next time-”

“Next time I’ll just be on stand-by with a mop and bucket.”

She giggled before she could stop herself and was glad to see Adrien relax his shoulders and stand up straighter. She stuck her hand out to him. “Deal.”

He took her hand but instead used it to pull her into a hug. It only lasted few seconds then Adrien let her go and took a step back. “I don’t like not talking to you.” he said. There was a moment of awkward silence as Marinette struggled to figure out why she was suddenly very _very_ aware of how much taller Adrien was compared to her. And how much broader his shoulders had become since he began working for them.

“Uh,” she stammered. “I-it’s okay… See you later!”

Marinette could feel her face burning, even in the cold air. She turned on her heel and went straight to the apartment.

 

\---

 

One of the worst days Adrien had ever had just very quickly turned around. He watched Marinette until she was safely back inside before he himself headed off in the direction of home.

He was nearly across the street when something caught his eye. A flash or something from behind a dumpster. Adrien bee-lined in that direction, seeing a beaten up old car parked near the alley behind the bakery. The car didn’t look familiar.

There was another flash, this time unmistakably coming from inside the car. He ducked down and approached it silently within its blind spot. It was dark enough that most people wouldn’t be able to see much from Adrien’s vantage point, but his night vision had always been better than average.

A head of bleached blond hair was largely obscured behind the lense of an an enormous camera, but Adrien recognized it immediately. He followed the direction that the lense was pointing in and saw, with perfect clarity, that the light was on in Marinette’s room.

A blind rage took him then.

He stood, not caring a lick now that he was going to be seen. He grabbed the handle of the driver’s door and ripped it open. Whether it had been locked or not would have made little difference. Next he bunched the photographer’s jacket in his fists and pulled him out of the car and forcefully shoved him into the side of a dumpster. The guy’s camera dropped from his hands and was only saved by the strap that kept it suspended from his neck. He let out a pained gasp as Adrien’s forearm pressed into his chest and pinned him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Adrien growled low. The man struggled to reply, but the pressure from Adrien’s elbow was making it difficult for him to draw breath enough to speak. He only eased it a little. “Talk fast.”

But the man didn’t talk. He started to laugh. Red began to fill Adrien’s vision.

Finally he said, “figured that’d work.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“What-”

He held up a hand in surrender, and the other reached into his pocket and produced a brand new smart phone. “Late birthday gift from your dad.”

He glanced angrily at the phone, but his eyes shot immediately back to the photographer. “Who are you,” he demanded.

“Just someone on Gabriel Agreste’s payroll,” he managed to choke out. “Though I think I deserve a raise for this.”

“Why’s she being involved?! What does he want with Marinette!”

Another weak laugh. “Absolutely nothing, man. Figured I’d have a better chance getting my job done if you came to me. She was just-” cough “- a red herring.”

His face was starting to turn the same shade of purple as the streak in his hair. Adrien released him. The man dropped to his knees and coughed violently as he tried catching his breath. He wouldn’t be going anywhere fast.

Adrien’s mind was reeling. Anger and adrenaline stirred throughout his entire body. “Alright,” he began to pace slowly, only a few steps, back and forth as he glared down at his father’s lackey. “You’ve got my full attention.”

He held up the smart phone which, miraculously, survived thus far. Adrien snatched it up. “Your dad just wants you to drop by sometime. Somebody’s going to call with a dinner invitation.”

The phone was the line and hook then. Adrien fought the urge to smash it into the pavement, but thought better of it. If Gabriel was willing to go as far as to threaten a completely innocent young woman’s privacy just to get his attention, what would he escalate to if Adrien refused his advance.

“Fine.” Adrien hissed. He shoved the phone into his pocket. “If I ever see you near here again-”

He didn’t get to finish his threat as the photographer was getting up and making his way back to his car. “Don’t worry about it, man.” He grunted. “After this I’m done. I’d be safer chasing after Jagged Stone and his crocodile.”

He drove off and Adrien, still burning with pent up energy, took the longer walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! Some plot got stuck in there.


End file.
